


zero summers, by and by

by OrphanText



Category: Magic Kaito, 名探偵コナン | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2018-05-18 19:39:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 39
Words: 30,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5940676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrphanText/pseuds/OrphanText
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of flash fiction that I've written here and there. C1-20 mostly kaishin, C20 onwards HakuKai some AU, a few bits of stuff from future stories, a little of other pairings maybe. </p><p>总之就一堆乱乱的东西, 请别见笑</p><p>x-posted from Tumblr, unbetaed</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Kid x Conan

**Author's Note:**

> Rating set to mature, everything to be further advised as we go. Warnings to be listed on summaries for all chapters - unless otherwise stated, one chapter is one complete story. Some dead doves hidden around, please just ignore them if you don't like them. ;;
> 
> I just need to clear out some space in my head.

He laps up the involuntary shudder that goes through the small body pinned beneath his, his much larger hand tight around the slender wrist. Blunt nails and baby soft fingers scratch at him, but it doesn’t do much damage through the thick wool of his suit. Conan - no, Shinichi chokes as the cold barrel of the gun traces up milk white skin, along the pale column of his throat to lodge firmly beneath his chin.

 “Decided to be an actual criminal, after all?” Shinichi’s voice hitches with something like fear as KID laps the salt from his skin, flushed and sticky from the summer heat. “Didn’t think you would join the lowest ranks of them all.”

 “I would be, but then I don’t have to treat you like a child anymore now that I know that you aren’t one, do I?” KID hums, hot breath tickling at the shell of his ear. “Now that I know where you’ve been hiding, Meitantei.”

 Shinichi snarls in answer.


	2. Pianist!Kaito / Piano tuner!Shinichi - as neighbours

Shinichi raps on the door, three sharp taps in quick succession, and when there is no audible response from within the apartment, repeats the motion again.

From behind the closed door, the sound of piano music falters, then stops completely. A few beats of silence more, then there is the distinct sound of a lock being pulled back, and the door is abruptly opened, revealing a tousled, sheepish looking man in the doorway.

“It’s not 10PM yet,” the man says immediately, as though it is something that he has to say very often on a near daily basis. He peers closer at Shinichi, then hesitates, apparently now taking in his thunderous expression and terse posture. “Ah… how may I help you?”

“Actually,” Shinichi lifts his chin a little, peering into the apartment over the man’s shoulder. “Your piano.”

“Not 10PM yet,” the man says automatically, then lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck, fingers tugging at the ends of his hair sheepishly. “You’re the new neighbour, aren’t you? I’m sorry if I’ve disturbed you with my practising - “

“It’s not about the time.” Shinichi cuts in swiftly before he could go onto what is undoubtedly and long and well-rehearsed apology. “Your piano. May I see it?”

“Uhm… “ the man shuffles slightly, brow furrowing. “Sure…? Why do you want to?”

“Pardon the intrusion,” Shinichi says, then abruptly shoulders past the man into his apartment. He toes off his shoes at the genkan, because he does have manners, even if he is on a mission. “Where is it?”

“Uh - I haven’t - Straight down the corridor - are you barging into my home?” The man hurries after him, perplexed and unsure of what to do with the strange neighbour who’s just invited himself in. “Look, if it’s about the music… “

The piano is standing in the living area, black lacquer gleaming quietly in the soft light. He walks right up to it, running a hand over the black and white keys, before pressing down on a few select keys, tilting his head at the sound that the piano produces.

“Look - “ the man begins irritably behind him, a hand hovering his own and ready to pull him away from the medium grand. “You can’t just walk in here and fiddle with her however - “

“You need to tune your C and F sharp.”

“ - you please… what?” In his confusion, the man bites down on his own tongue entirely by accident, and while he is recovering from the pain, Shinichi rounds to the back of the piano to peer into soundboard. “What?”

“Your C and F sharp.” He dips his fingers into his pocket, and withdraws a name card, offering it to the man who was still tearing up from the pain of having bit his tongue. “It’s out of tune.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” the man insists, and presses down on the mentioned keys. The sound makes Shinichi tuck his tongue behind his teeth, brow furrowing in automatic response. It hadn’t been that bad, but when he’s had to listen to the man trip over the note for four hours on end, it is driving him more than just a little crazy.

“I know you can’t hear it, because you would have tuned it if you did,” Shinichi says, careful not to offend, looking over the medium grand. “You keep your piano in a very good condition, just by looking and listening at it, especially with how frequently you practice with it. You also value your music - ” he waves a hand over the numerous shelves stuffed with music manuscripts. “- which means that you would not have let it go out of tune if you could help it - “

“Okay,” The man shifts his weight onto one foot, examining the namecard Shinichi’s handed him. “Okay, Meitantei. So - you are telling me that you have absolute pitch, and you want to tune my piano?”

The man is grinning, and something about the eyebrow waggle has Shinichi flushing. “In short, yes, if you will let me. Granted - it is very minute, and not many people can catch it.”

“No, no. Go ahead, so long as you know what you’re doing. You’re right - now that you’ve notified me of this, I cannot possibly let it go unfixed. Please. Besides - “ the man rounds the piano to stand next to Shinichi, offering him an easy grin. “It isn’t every day that someone barges into my home to forcibly tune my piano.”

Shinichi is sure that he is red to the tips of his ears, and coughs to cover up his embarrassment, instead pulling out his tool pouch, reaching into the soundboard with his lever and tries to ignore how intensely the man was watching him. He  _ is _ fiddling with his piano, however, so he supposes that he would only be watched closely in case he damages what he knows is a beloved instrument of his neighbour’s. “Try playing something?”

The man does obligingly, and Shinichi gives it a few minute adjustments before he packs his tools away. “She’s all good now. I’m - I’m sorry. For my rudeness. I - She’s beautiful.” He pets the piano self-consciously, then steps away from it. “I should have introduced myself earlier. I’m Kudo Shinichi, and I’ve just moved in a week ago… I really don’t mind the long hours, and I really don’t mind your practising because it’s - uhm, it’s just that you play those notes rather often, so - If there is any way for me to make up for my disturbing you… “

His neighbour has been smiling widely throughout his rambling, and he pauses when he holds up a hand. “Not if the fault is mine to begin with. Let me introduce myself - I’m Kuroba Kaito, aspiring world class pianist and hobbyist magician.” He sweeps Shinichi a bow, and Shinichi startles when Kuroba snaps a rose into his hand, offering it to him. “Outside of tuning, do you also play the piano, tantei-san?”

At his hesitant nod, the grin widens.

“Perfect.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my head, Shinichi will end up a lot in his house listening to all the music CDs that Kaito has at home, and Kaito will eventually gift him a free ticket to his concert with the Tokyo Philharmonic. And brings him a lot of signed stuff, etc. Shinichi probably writes music, so I suppose they'll get along well.


	3. Gamemaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conan lags behind in KID's game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some violence.

He barely registers the sudden hand on his shoulder before he is shoved face first into the wall of the alley, rough grit and the edge of bricks grinding into his cheek. It startles a cry from him, but the sound cuts abruptly as something cold and hard presses itself to the base of his skull. The raw panic surges up like acid in his throat, and he cannot help but cry out in pain when his assailant puts pressure on his arm, bent behind his back and forcing weight onto his shoulder joint. He can’t move, not if he does not want to dislocate his shoulder. He can’t reach for his watch, or move without projecting his intentions, and he’s well trapped without leverage and -

The sound of the safety being thumbed off is loud in the deserted alley, and his blood runs cold at the sound. No one would think to look into a dark alley at this time at night when all it would bring anyone is danger, especially not on a cold, rainy night when all anyone would care about is getting home. Who would think that there would be a child being held at gunpoint, here? His breath hitches, shamefully, from fear when the pressure shifts, and this is it, he thinks, the end of what should have caught up with him ever since Tropical Land, the effect of being too brash and being too curious for his own good and now he’s going to be gunned down without a single fighting chance or an explanation when there’s so much more that he wants to do -

“Or,” says an amused, and painfully, frighteningly  _ familiar _ voice from behind him. “So it would have been, if I hadn’t gotten here first.”

He nearly falls to his knees, when he is suddenly, unexpectedly released. He stumbles, and immediately puts his back to the wall, eyes wide ( _ escape, look for possible escapes _ ) and still trembling from the sudden rush of adrenaline. KID, in a nondescript black shirt and jeans steps back, gun still in a gloved hand and a sharp mocking smile on his lips.

His head snaps back, thudding against the wall heavily when the gun is suddenly aimed at him, barrel between his eyes ( _ KID isn’t - he  _ can’t _ - _ ) and then a string of colourful flags tangle themselves into his already wet hair with a loud, heart-stopping bang.

“Aren’t you glad, tantei-kun?” The thief plucks the end of the banner from the gun, allowing the end to fall limply to the ground. He is cold, then hot, then cold again, as the thief produces two slumped over figures with a flourish, both trussed up and out of for the count.

Shinichi swallows, trying to work a throat gone dry as bone. He knows them, and if KID is to be believed ( _ he is, the thief has no cause to lie _ ), they have been gunning for him, evidently having tracked and tailed him and he hadn’t even suspected nor noticed a thing -

His mind spins, dizzy, as KID hums and does up a neat ribbon on one of his would-be killers.

“You - “

“Picked up your slack for you again.” There is sharp steel beneath the amusement, and Shinichi nearly flinches. KID doesn’t try to move towards him. He isn’t even looking at him, at this point, but it doesn’t stop his instincts from screaming at him for him to  _ flee _ from this danger. “It would have been funny, if it weren’t so pathetic.”

_ You’ve barely won your game, what makes you think that you can win mine? _

The heels of his sneakers hit the wall behind him, and something clatters as it falls to the side. KID’s smile widens cruelly, and he gently takes Shinichi’s cold, numb hand into his own, breathing over the limb to warm it, presumably. Shinichi does flinch this time, when he turns his cheek, lips brushing close to a ear, the world spinning too quickly for him to make sense of what is happening.

“If you don’t try harder, I might lose my interest for real this time,” KID murmurs, as though imparting a particularly juicy secret, and chuckles as he releases Shinichi and steps back. Shinichi sinks to his knees when KID disappears with an easy gait from the end of the alley. It is a good few minutes until it occurs to him to call for help, and he fumbles with his sodden clothes, dialling the number on auto-pilot when he pulls out his phone. He doesn’t allow himself to shake apart until he is safe at home (but how safe is safe, now?).


	4. GEMINI verse - Partners in crime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conan pairs up with KID against Shinichi.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GEMINI verse is actually a story that I have already planned out in full, and this is one of the planned interactions. Although its fully planned from start to finish, I'm too busy with the other WIPs to begin working on it. Q v Q
> 
> In this verse, KID also murders people. Conan is Shinichi's brother flown in from America, and the task of looking after him falls onto Shinichi. They don't really know each other that well, and due to reasons, Conan is now siding with KID for his assistance.
> 
> Little frog is the nickname that KID has given Conan, and is also the title that the force will eventually know him as - the strategist behind KID.

He’s dabbing at the nail polish with cotton balls dipped in acetone when the door behind him opens, and clicks shut again. The bed he’s sprawled out on dips slightly as someone settles next to him, and he lets them have his hand when a small hand tugs on his wrist, relinquishing the cotton ball to them without complaint.

Conan dabs at the pastel pink polish, lips twisted in something near to disappointment. “I was hoping that you would keep it on for a little longer,” he says, even as he removes the colour from the rest of his fingertips. “A photograph would have been nice.”

“A photograph - “

“Would have been incriminating, I know. You don’t reuse your disguises.” Conan gets up to drop the cotton ball into the trash can, before pulling a fresh one out of the plastic packet and soaking it with acetone. “It is one of your better ones.”

“Don’t be childish.” KID offers him the other hand, watching as Conan makes quick work of it, pushing his overly large spectacles back up on his nose when it slips downwards. “Any disguise is a good disguise if they can’t see through to the person underneath. There’s no better, or best disguise.”

“Yeah, but Kid-san,” Conan chirps, voice bright and pitched childishly upwards, drawing a grimace from KID. “How can I not be when I am just a child?”

He answers the boy’s wide smug grin with a pinched smile. Despite the amount of time that they have been working together for, Conan’s little boy act has never ceased to unsettle him. “I doubt you are ‘just’ anything, little frog.”

“You mean like the way you are ‘just’ a thief?” Conan’s voice brims with the kind of artificial sweetness that one would find in grape candy, and it makes KID’s teeth hurt just to hear it. The boy lets go of KID’s wrist to tug the chestnut brown wig off of the thief’s head, the mass of curls falling down into the teen’s lap. KID runs a hand through the synthetic hair, then catches the pack of make-up removing wipes that Conan tosses at him. “So? How was it on your end?”

“So? Give me some credit. They didn’t suspect a thing.” He peels the sticky cover over, pulling out one of the sheets, then tips his chin in the direction of the cutesy green backpack in the chair. “The stuff that you want is in there.”

“Good job,” Conan says absently, dropping the childish act as he hops off the bed to get to the bag, and KID watches the gentle smile curve into a shark-like grin when the rummaging produces a roll of documents and a thumb drive. As much as the boy would deny it, he still inherently shares a great many similarities with his brother, KID thinks, although he keeps the unwelcome opinion to himself. “Now get that stuff off of your face. You look weird and ridiculous.”

“And here I was thinking that perhaps you had a thing for it.” Kid pouts, even though he was already wiping off the lipstick and eyeliner that he had carefully applied to himself for the disguise. “You can admit to liking it, I won’t be judging you. After all, you  _ are _ at the appropriate age when you are still figuring things out for yourself. The internet’s really teaching kids a lot more than books are nowadays, isn’t it?”

Conan shoots him an unimpressed glare through the mirror as he pockets the USB. It doesn’t dent the thief’s shit-eating grin the slightest, so he settles for rolling his eyes. “And by that logic, you have a fetish for cross-dressing and gets off on people treating you like a proper girl, yes? Don’t be stupid.”

KID shrugs, toeing off the ballet flats. “Maybe, but maybe I’m also right,” he teases, keeping a careful eye on Conan’s calculative expression as the child considers the blueprints in his hands. “He has no clue, does he?” He adds in a quieter tone of voice, turning serious.

Conan hums the affirmative, the familiar smirk spreading like oil on his lips, eyes glinting in what could be nearly malicious glee, fingers curling into his palm. “Shinichi-nii san will never know what hit him.”

KID stretches languorously, before propping his chin onto his hand, grudgingly impressed despite himself. “Like I said. He really has no idea how terrible you really are.”

It nearly makes KID want to pity him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really like the idea of villain or dark!Conan. In general, Kid and Conan have their own mutual agenda, and their general facing off Shinichi as their rival is because Shinichi is usually getting himself involved in their stuff. 
> 
> I really wanted to write their brotherly relationship being estranged and strained, where KID will eventually come to take over the role for him temporarily. 
> 
> I have a reason for Conan's nickname! Q 3 Q


	5. GD!Kaito and Editor!Shinichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came out of nowhere. Just ignore this one. I hate this one to bits.

Shinichi doesn’t look up from where he has his head buried in the safety of his arms, nose rubbing uncomfortably against the polished surface of the desk. If possible, he just wants to have a moment to himself, but the pen tapping insistently next to his head refuses to let him be. Instead, he glares balefully at Kaito, who tries his hardest to project innocent guile, and rakes a hand through his hair.

“I don’t see a problem,” Kaito says, which was Shinichi’s problem.

“They want you to remove the leg hair,” Shinichi says, tapping at the spread of illustrations open before them. “They don’t like it at all, and they would also like for you to remove the weird little men in mankinis that you’ve left in the beach clean-up article. And if you could just make the back cover a little less creepy… it would be greatly appreciated.”

If only he hadn’t taken a sick leave the day before, then all of this could have been possibly avoided.

“What absolute nonsense,” Kaito says cheerfully. “I find it very charming.”

“They don’t. At all. And neither do I.”

“Everyone in the design department does.” A hand pats him hard on the back. “By the way, I need, say, about 40 words less from you for the case study, if possible. We have to do something for the humour section as well, because no one’s started on that one yet. Though, I think Aoko was talking about featuring travel this issue, just to tie in with the feature. Or you could just let me do it and save her the trouble.”

Shinichi thinks of the one article they’ve allowed Kaito have free rein with, thinks of all the scathing looks he’s received over his morning meetings and groans.

“Remove the leg hair, and I’ll think about it,” he says.

“Never.” Still as unrepentantly cheerful as ever.

There is probably still some ibuprofen left in the medical box. Shinichi rubs at his temples, then wearily gets to his feet. “I’ll send you the final draft for that interview at 4. They’ve already finalised the other interview. If anything else comes up, I’ll just let you know. Please think about the fixes, or I’ll let Hakuba at it.”

“Hey.” Kaito calls out just when Shinichi is nearly out the door. “Are you still heading out for lunch?”

Shinichi consults his workload mentally, and shakes his head. “I doubt that I will have the time to. You go on ahead, Kaito. Sorry to ditch.”

“I’ll just pick us something up, then.” The designer shrugs. “I mean I’ll have the intern pick us something. Not a problem. Shall I fix dinner tonight?”

“No, I’ll do dinner. You lot still have to be ready for the print runs, don’t you? Don’t worry about it.” Shinichi gives him a tired but sincere smile. “The editor's’ work is almost done, so we’ll probably be knocking off earlier than you.”

“Right. Thanks for the hard work, Shinichi.” Kaito winks, and Shinichi quickly turns away before the other can catch him blushing.


	6. Consultant Criminal Kid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of it as a Leverage kind of deal. Kudou is understandably furious with the whole business when he finds out.

The woman sat across the table from him on a sunny Tuesday morning. He had opted to work out of office that day, seating himself in the al fresco of a cafe he frequents often, a plate of half eaten chocolate croissant and the crumbs of a chocolate muffin at his elbow. As long as there was easy access to chocolate, wifi, and a power supply, he wasn’t too picky about where his butt would be parked for the majority of the day. As it was, he was engrossed enough in his work that his only response was to shift his belongings a centimetre or two closer to himself, and did not realise that he was being spoken to until he’s come to a momentary break in his work.

The woman only smiles serenely, as though she hadn’t just been ignored for the past thirty minutes. It’s an amazing display of patience, Kaito thinks. She’s wearing a sunhat, chestnut brown hair in a neat braid over her shoulder. Her nails are neatly manicured, and she wouldn’t look amiss as an art student in the Louvre in her white cotton blouse, wool pleated wrap skirt and scuffed oxfords. Mostly the scuffed oxfords and the plastic dinosaur button brooch, he decides.

“Sorry, you were saying?” he looks up around a mouthful of croissant, trying to keep most of the crumbs from falling onto the keyboard of his laptop. They don’t, but end up on his notebook instead, and that was just as annoying.

“I admire your work,” she says simply, hands folded across her knee on her lap, a small smile on her lips. Tom Ford Flamingo, he thinks.

“Sorry, do I know you?” he asks, allowing a look of honest confusion to cross his face.

“Maybe not,” she admits, just as honestly with an embarrassed downward sweep of her lashes. She lifts a shoulder when he says nothing. “ _ You _ , however. You’re well known. Or I suppose the term should be  _ notorious _ ?” She touches the tips of her thumb and forefinger to form a circle, lifting her hand up before her right eye, left hand imitating the shape of a gun. “Or am I wrong?”

“I’m afraid you’ve lost me,” he says blankly, careful to keep his hands relaxed before him.

She blinks back at him, before returning her hands to her lap once more. “I know you have retired, but I would like to make an offer to you regardless. We could use someone with your skills and a mind like your own.” She undoes the strap on her camera bag, and her fingers dip in to pull out a black name card. “Make of it what you will. Money, crowds, revisiting for old times’ sake. Hopefully not money, because we’re honestly not too well stocked on that.” She slides the card over to his side of the table. “No pressure.”

He stares at her, before bursting out into laughter and twisting around in his seat, looking around searchingly. “I - wow, this is. Wow. Is this a prank show? Where is the secret camera? I’m not sure what is happening, but you’re  _ good _ , lady.” He goes a little pink, embarrassed. “Will this be on youtube?”

She joins him, sharing in the joke, and gets to her feet when it is natural to. “Think on it,” she winks at him. “I shall not disturb you any longer, for I, too, would like a tour of Paris before the day is over.”

“Miss?” Kaito blinks at her, the smile faltering in the return of his confusion.

She blows him a kiss jauntily, and walks off with her pastry in a white paper bag without a single backward look, easily lost in the people although there weren’t too many of them around at his hour.

That was last Tuesday.

Suitably unnerved but refusing to show anything for it, Kaito had stubbornly remained at the cafe, grinding down on his work until the early lunch hour.

All he left behind was a plate of crumbs and an empty stained mug.

This week, he found himself breaking into a studio apartment just off the central.

She didn’t seem entirely unsurprised to see him, although she did very nearly drop her cup. The contents of it spilled over onto the floor, and she let out a curse, stepping back quickly.

It was true that he was retired.

It was also true that he should have been on a plane back to Japan, a flight that has already left an hour ago from Charles de Gaulle for Tokyo.

“And what makes my lovely lady think that I will be interested in your offer?”

She doesn’t turn back from mopping up the mess with a thick wad of paper towels. Her hair is let loose, and it cascades in waves down her back. “Maybe the fact that you are here and not on the flight home to your friend?” she says testily. “Shit. We have housekeeping for this shite.” She throws the wad of soaked towels down onto the ground.

He’s been retired for give years now. Shinichi probably still has the key to all his stuff that he’s locked away the day he’s accomplished his objective.

“How would you like to be a consultant criminal, International Thief 1412?”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, and pours herself a new glass of wine. He pauses, considering.

“Call me Kid.”


	7. Aoko x Kaito Partners in crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AKA the next generation of married thieves.

He wasn’t being whiny. He wasn’t. Really.

“I don’t see a reason why we need to be in couple wear for this.”

“No one is going to see us, and we won’t be working together, so if you’re worried about being seen all lovey dovey with me, don’t worry.” A slap nearly knocks his cap off his head, and he grunts, righting it again. “That’s the last thing Aoko wants. Besides, there is nothing couple wear about jeans and a black hoodie.”

“Are you really trying to sell me that there is nothing similar about our outfits? Are you - are you blind?”

He is really trying, but when he is gesturing frantically between them and then at the mirror, he is probably failing really hard right about now.

“Stop making a fuss.” A pair of gloves hit him in the face, and he whimpers pathetically even as he tugs them on obediently. “Check your earpiece, bakaito. I don’t have time for your goofing around.”

“Fine, fine.” The earpiece crackles, and then Kaito’s voice is coming through, clear as though he was standing right next to her. Which he was. She will have to test it again when he is in position. “You’ve memorised the plans, so please check your equipment. Aoko doesn’t want to save your sorry butt just because you were  _ careless _ .”

“Are you kidding? Me, careless?” He still pats down his pockets, regardless.

“Must Aoko remind you about Edogawa-kun?” He flinches, and she grins, sharp. “Stop complaining and go where you’re supposed to go. I still need some time to set up, so please leave me alone. And stop complaining.”

Kaito scowls, scuffing the toe of his sneakers against the ground. “Don’t get careless, stupid.”

“Don’t get caught, genius.”

He trots off, grumbling as he went, all of which she receives loud and clear through the earpiece. She’s already tapped in, gathering information as they speak. Glancing in the mirror, she pauses, then winks at her own reflection. It  _ is _ a little couple-y, as Kaito said. All the better.

“Sorry, daddy,” she sticks her tongue out at the screen on her laptop. “You have to forgive Aoko this time too.”


	8. Choices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Poisoning? Dark!Shinichi
> 
> Since when does half-dead or all dead consist as a choice, Shinichi?
> 
> Pretty much a no-brainer here, just want excuse to write terrible thing.

“They plan to shoot you tomorrow, on the day of your trial.”

He hadn’t bothered to look up when he had heard the approaching footsteps, echoing ominously off the walls of the corridor. Now, he cautiously lifts his head from his arms, uncurling himself from the tight, defensive position he’s been in on the ground.

Kudou stands on the opposite side of the prison bars, and there is nothing in his face or posture that Kaito can read. His eyes are cold as chips of ice from the arctic, and unable to hold the heavy judgement in those eyes, he lowers his gaze and his head to his arms again. No point in bothering. Ever since he’s been caught, cuffed and tossed in here, no one’s given him any privacy or left him any dignity. He’s promised to be on a good behaviour, but they’ve still left the cuffs on, metal biting around his wrists and ankles - overkill, but then he supposes he should feel flattered.

(He’s good at escaping, but he promised, and right now, he doesn’t want to care.)

“You put me in here,” Kaito says, at length. His voice is rough, throat dry, and some water would be heavenly, but he doesn’t think he is up to asking for any. He thinks of the betrayed expression on Nakamori keibu’s face, and any strength that he has shrivels up and dies in him. The inspector’s men are frighteningly loyal and protective of their superior, and only serve to distance the both of them when it is clear that Nakamori could just be emotionally compromised.

Kudou’s lips curve up in a sharp, cruel smile, and Kaito firmly thinks of Aoko. “I simply am the intellectually superior one out of the both of us,” Kudou says. “You played yourself into this one.”

Something hits Kaito in the face lightly, falling aside to the ground with a barely there sound, and there’s a soft rustling of fabric, then Kudou sighs.

“I didn’t put you in here for a death sentence. Of course, you still have to own up to what you have done, but taking a bullet for it is a little too much. This will buy you some time - not much, but perhaps enough for you to avoid your public execution tomorrow. To the rest of the world, you will just be missing, presumed dead.”

The red and white capsule lies beside him, from where it has stopped rolling on the ground.

He would be playing right into Kudou’s game, the detective hiding his cards well, and he would be… not-dead, or maybe dead, and he would likely never see his mum, or go to school, or see Aoko again.

“Do you want some water?” Kudou asks, false concern in his voice when he reaches for the pill.

Kid is resourceful. He will survive - he simply has to.


	9. GEMINI verse - Emergency Calls Only

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still a total sucker for sick!fic. Still too lazy to write out the verse in full.

KID only picks up on the third ring, mumbling peevishly down the line, something about school for which Conan has no patience for, particularly when he had been ringing him for the past hour at regular intervals. Granted, it is a regular school day for the both of them, and according to the clock hanging on his kitchen wall, KID should be in between his third and fourth period before break.

“He has a bad fever,” Conan says without preamble, carefully sliding the kitchen door closed behind him. Shinichi was out for the count in his bedroom upstairs the last time Conan checked, but it never hurts to be careful around a detective.

There is an undecipherable silence down the phone, then KID sighs, a quiet exhale through the line. “How bad?”

“...forty degrees. It was thirty-eight this morning when he was supposed to go to school. I gave him some paracetamol, but the fever isn’t going down at all.”

“Maybe you should get him to a doctor,” KID says, not unreasonably. Conan’s fingers tighten around the casing of the phone, worrying his thumbnail between his teeth. In the background, there is a shrill of laughter - presumably KID’s classmates. It’s a little hard to fit the image of the international jewel thief into a high school setting, so Conan doesn’t try, forcing himself to let go of his thumb.

“I did give him a lot of fluids and a sponge bath… “ Conan stops when KID sighs again, a much harsher sound when compared to before.

“If you’re worried, you should take him to a doctor.” Over the phone, there is an echo of a door closing, and then it is suddenly much more quieter on KID’s end of the line. “I’m not exactly qualified to be giving medical advice, Conan-kun. What I would suggest, you probably have already done.”

“I did go onto MayoClinic,” Conan says mulishly, a corner of his lips quirking upwards into a reluctant smile when KID is surprised into laughter from his answer. “But that’s not what I’m calling about.”

“Oh? I’m listening, but make it quick.”

“How do you make porridge?” Conan blurts before his courage fails him. Unexpectedly, KID doesn’t laugh, instead making a thoughtful noise in his throat.

“Do you have any dried vegetables lying about the house?”

Conan glances up at the kitchen shelves overhead. He will need a chair and a stool on the chair in order to get to them, but it isn’t unmanageable. “I think so.”

“Okay, there is miso in the fridge, isn’t there? There should be a box of it there. You will need about ¼ cup of rice, and a rice to water ratio of 1:5. Soak the dried vegetables in water for 15 minutes, shorten the time if you’re using hot water, then put all rice and vegetables into the rice cooker. There should be a setting for porridge, if you own one of the modern rice cookers. Repeat the cooking process of the cooker however many times you want to until the porridge looks like how you think you want it - I usually cook it twice over, but it is up to you. Just don’t forget to stir, because porridge likes to be burn on the bottom, though it happens less with a rice cooker. For the miso, dissolve a teaspoonful of it into the porridge, when it’s done, and you can also beat an egg and stir it in about fifteen minutes before it’s cooked. Look, I have to get back to class. You will send me a photo, won’t you?” There’s a tapping noise on KID’s end, and Conan nods before he realises that KID is unable to see him. “Will you be alright, Conan-kun?”

“Of course I will be. Who do you think I am?” Conan sniffs, injecting disdain that he does not feel into his voice. Miso, rice, water, and dried vegetables. Shinichi has never allowed him near the stove, but it shouldn’t be too hard if KID says that it’s alright to cook with a rice cooker. If KID had thought that it would be too difficult a task for him, the thief would have said so, wouldn’t he?

“That’s the spirit!” KID says brightly, and Conan can hear the grin in his voice. “Well, I’m off then. Take care of our meitantei for me, and I, being the bright future of Japan - “

“Sorry for calling you at this time,” Conan mumbles, thinking that maybe KID wouldn’t really hear it, except that KID pauses in his self-flattery, a surprised kind of silence taking over their conversation.

“Like I told you, you’re free to call me in case of emergencies,” KID says, slowly. Carefully. “Anyway, you were scared. Doesn’t matter now. Not all emergencies are life and death, you know.”

“It’s not as though you picked up on the first ring,” Conan accuses as he drags a chair noisily over to the sink, not bothering with a lie.

“Oops! I was sleeping in class, sorry.” KID returns cheekily. “Photos even if you burn the house down, little frog!”

Conan snaps the phone shut on KID’s laughter, an embarrassed flush turning his cheeks pink. He takes a moment to himself in the kitchen, running through KID’s instructions in his head. Water, rice, dried vegetables, miso, maybe eggs, in that order. Right. He could do this.

::

The first photo comes through about ten minutes after Kaito’s settled himself back into class. Checking to make sure that the teacher isn’t watching, he props up his textbook to text a reply.

_ That’s way too much water. _

_ Too much vegetables,  _ he adds.

_ Taste before you salt! _ he reminds, just in case.

The last photo comes in near the end of his class, and he laughs loudly upon opening it. Attached to the text are two photos, one of them of the cooked porridge, already ladled into a bowl and garnished with a whole, uncooked chili for some reason. The other is of Shinichi, face flushed with the fever and tangled up in his blankets still half in his uniform, hair sticking up in disarray and fast asleep. He isn’t sure if this is something that he should really be seeing, but after a moment’s struggle with himself, he saves the photo to his phone anyway.

_ Well done _ , he sends.

::

“Do you suppose he will be masochistic enough to drag himself all the way here tonight?” KID asks later that night, setting the top hat jauntily on his head at an angle, inspecting himself in the mirror before giving his reflection a saucy grin.

“Don’t use that word to describe him,” Conan grumbles, fiddling with the small radio in his hands. “He definitely won’t be coming tonight. I slipped him a couple of sleeping pills. Nevertheless, we will be sticking to the original plan. It’ll make things easier for us.”

“Is that medically safe?”

“I checked with a doctor. I have no intentions of murdering my own brother, particularly when I’m not around to supervise him at home.” Conan glares. “I’m - “

“Only playing an elaborate prank on him and not being a little troublemaker, yeah?” KID shushes him with a pat to the head. “Rogue detective, I know. Get to work, now.”


	10. Angel!Shinichi x Demon!Kaito

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Say whatever you like I will trade a box of tea for a good angelxdemon fic with wings. I did plan out more for this bit, but we'll see if I will ever get to writing that out at all.
> 
> Kaito's job in his human guise is being a doctor.
> 
> Also, take note that this will be the A!verse. (because I have more than one angel/demon fic flying around)

“It's what you might call a little territorial dispute. A pain in the ass, but there we go. Barely anything to concern yourself with, meitantei.”

Kid’s face hovers above him, a pleasant smile on his lips. Beneath them, the city is asleep, awash with lights from commercial buildings, bright ribbons of traffic weaving through the darkness to form an elaborate map. Shinichi swallows, and tightens his grip on Kid’s arm around his chest.

He’d been chasing Kid on a heist, and then it had all went to hell in a handbasket when he got to the roof. Literally.

Kid doesn’t seem to be bothered by the cold, holding onto his hat by the wide brim before the wind could snatch it from his head. Behind him, strong, pristine white wings keep him in the air, a soft radiance coming off of his glossy feathers. He should have looked ridiculous, what with three pairs of them, paired together with his ridiculous white suit and equally ridiculous top hat, but Kid wore it well and only looked ridiculously put together. Against the night sky, he looked like an angel.

Shinichi knows better than to mistake him for one.

“To think that you were hiding in plain sight.” Shinichi licks at his chapped lips nervously, hands still clutching onto the thief - no demon’s wrist. “That’s bold.”

“Shows that you don’t know me well.” Kid - because Shinichi needs time to come to terms with the fact that the faint traces of magical signature he’s felt for the past two years in the district belongs to  _ Kaeim _ , who was also Kid, the criminal he’d been chasing around like a headless chicken for nearly the same amount of time - says cheerfully. Shinichi scowls, then lets out a terrified yelp when the grip around him loosens, blunt fingernails clawing at his hand.

“Don’t drop me,” Shinichi warns, palms sweaty against Kid’s wrists, heart hammering in his chest.

“So you are the one assigned to Beika.” He feels a cold nose against his neck, then yelps again when it is quickly replaced by a hot, wet tongue. “They never give up, do they? I’ve barely felt you around. You still smell good, though - whatever there is left beneath this human disguise of yours.”

He can’t help the shudder that escapes him when teeth scrape over his pulse. Kid gives a throaty chuckle, then folds his wings, plummeting them downwards a few feet before snapping them open again to halt mid-air immediately. It was enough for Shinichi to develop a cold sweat, eyes screwed shut, spine stiff with fear.

“An angel that can’t fly? My, my.” Kid tuts from over his shoulder. “How very… human.”

“Shut up,” Shinichi snaps, on edge from the fright. “What, now?” The faint signatures he’s felt from the other lower class demons are gone, clearly erased when Kid had thrown out the netting spell. He didn’t stick around to see, seeing as he’d been busy falling off the ledge of a roof. Now, all he feels is Kid, a powerful thrum of energy in his teeth and bones, only kept in check by Kid’s apparently iron restraint.

“Oh, I’ll think of something,” Kid says absently, and Shinichi tries not to feel unsettled about how vague his answer is. Point: he tries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As advanced warning, chapter 20 is pretty messed up.


	11. Editing the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Implied major character death
> 
> Some information to clear up this thing - A very short bit of AU based on BTSAT's universe (haha I reminded myself of my worst mistake), where cities are built around core sentient Libraries that keep all information from the Beginning up till now, and they depend on the information that the Library and the government releases to ensure its survival (the government is totalitarian, by the way). This is the London branch, in which Hakuba is one of the top tier politicians, and Kaito is an Outsider. Outsiders have no loyalties to any city or government, and go around recording all known human history and information as Humanity's copy versus the Library's. Libraries are all managed by a Guardian, usually a citizen of the city it reigns over and chosen by the Library itself... basically you get stuck in it and never die and will have to act as its spokesperson. The government has no say over who it chooses, but will try to pressure them into working with them. I just have a lot of info about this with nowhere to put them ever since I started hating Sherlock.

He would have shut the door in the kid’s face if he didn’t spot the  _ Hapalochlaena _ curled delicately around the kid’s left wrist. He knows only of a select few people with a non-fish companion, all of whom are people in the topmost tier of their government. The kid blinks up at him, a stubborn, determined look on his face.

“...let’s see that card again.”

He takes the thin, metallic card from the kid, the spinning letters across the burnished spelled metal quickly settling into a title, name, and designation.

“Edogawa Conan, you said?”

The card carries the signature K on the bottom left corner, instead of an E, and when he brushes fingers over the punched code, the answering flash seems genuine enough. Clearance A, lifetime research permit.

“I used to work with Kudo Shinichi,” the boy offers.

“If you’re related to him in any way… “ he pauses, mulling over his next words carefully. “The Library has yet to choose its next Guardian since his death.”

“I doubt it will choose a child to be its representative.” A wry smile quirks Edogawa’s lips upwards. “No one below the age of 18, or that was what the pattern has revealed so far.”

“You would trust in the patterns of old magic? I wouldn’t be so sure myself, but if you’re sure.” Kaito steps aside, opening the door wide in welcome. “Go ahead.”

Edogawa nods, and brushes past him into the library, tucking his permit back into his pocket.

“You are the temporary keeper of the Library, yes?”

“In the event of Kudou’s death, yes.” The door closes almost ominously behind them, but Edogawa doesn’t notice, too busy peering up at the towering shelves around them.

“I see. So they’ve chosen an Outsider for our Library.” Edogawa pushes at his spectacles, then turns around to face him. “Tell me what you know. I’m here to investigate my cousin’s murder.”


	12. Bath time is for kids

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pre-slash / Friendship to Lovers
> 
> Bathing together can be cute. Or super awkward. Especially when Kaito is trying to project I--am-dating-material @ Shinichi. Also written in memory of the kid who never fails to scream bloody murder in the shower because the water's too hot for him.

“It’s  _ scalding _ in here!”

A splash, then a hand catches him before he could fall and slip, a warm chuckle at his ear.

“It’s just the right temperature.” The owner of the hand dips a hand into the water, and swishes it around. “Don’t be a baby, Conan-kun. It’s just right.”

“I’m going to be  _ boiled alive _ .”

“Absolute piffle. And you call  _ me _ dramatic?”

Still, he doesn’t relent until the other reaches over to twist the tap open, adding cold water into the steaming tub. He watches the water level rise, slightly, then carefully puts a hand in to test the temperature.

“Better,” he allows, and the tap is twisted off again.

“You’re ruining my bath, that’s what you’re doing. In you go.” There is some quiet grumbling, and then he squawks when the towel is tugged loose from around his waist, before he is lifted and deposited into the tub with a fair bit of splashing.

“You’re the one who came up with the idea,” Shinichi says mulishly as Kaito (it’s still weird, thinking of him as Kaito after all the time spent thinking about him as Kid) drops his own towel and wades in, settling into the water with a sigh of relief. “Children are more sensitive to heat than adults, and I could have done just as well with the shower.”

“Do you live on just bread and cheese?” Kaito cracks open an eye to peer at him. “You need to learn to have fun and relax.”

There’s a retort on the tip of his tongue, but then Kaito has already closed his eyes again, settling back against the side of the bathtub, so Shinichi swallows whatever he is about to say, and rests his chin on the ledge of the tub.

Why had he agreed in the first place? He has no idea. It probably had been the pseudo-date that Kaito had brought him out on prior, although it had involved a grisly murder at the end (which he had solved, thank you), and a badly timed mugging attempt which Kaito had intercepted quickly.

The thief had called it - what did he say again - scouting and casing. It hadn’t been the case. There had been flowers, sticky bubbles, chocolate cake and coffee, bookstores and video games. The murder and the mugging was a complication, but it hadn’t dampened the mood the day had put him in at all. It had, however, made it so that it was too late to return home, and so Kaito had invited him to stay the night instead, where the thief had made dinner (surprisingly well versed in culinary skills), and he’d been roped into a bath together.

A hand around his middle makes him jump, but it only pulls him backwards to rest against the thief, letting go only when it was sure he would stay.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Nothing in particular.”

Kaito runs a hand through his hair, smoothing the wet strands back and tucking them behind his ears, warm against the back of his neck. “You’re always a loud thinker,” Kaito murmurs, and when Shinichi looks up, he is smiling, a satisfied, pleased satisfaction on his face, and Shinichi is suddenly made aware of how close they are sitting together in the tub, damp heat between them and pressed skin to skin.

He’s suddenly aware of how Kaito’s fingers had lingered over his shoulders, trailing down his arms and when he’d rubbed the sponge in small circles down his calves to his feet, lathering up a fine foam as he went. He’d pressed his thumbs firmly into the soles of his feet, causing his toes to curl, and Shinichi doesn’t think that he’d imagined the edge to Kaito’s expression then. A little dark, a little hungry, skirting around all that pleasantry and courtesy, although Kaito is careful to keep it masked.

“Is there something on my face?” Kaito asks curiously when he stares for a second longer than he should have.

Shinichi turns back to the wall facing them, settling back against the thief’s chest, mustering the blandest expression that he can manage on his face. “Probably just stupidity.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say… “

“If I’m not being nice, I would be slapping handcuffs on you right now.”

The thief snorts unattractively behind him, but Shinichi is already tuning him out, turning his mind to this new development.

It could be interesting.


	13. No Solid Evidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hakuba/Kuroba
> 
> A really short one.

“What are you doing?”

He had just finished securing Snake from head to toe with rope (just in case the handcuffs weren’t enough, and when it came to everyone’s safety, overkill was overrated), and had looked up to see Hakuba leaning away from him, head turned as far away as possible, with his left hand firmly over his eyes.

“...if I don’t look at you, I won’t know you’re Kuroba, and I won’t have to arrest my boyfriend for illegal criminal activities.”

It has him laughing outright, and Hakuba stiffens from where he is kneeling, although he doesn’t move an inch or take his hand from his eyes. He steps over Snake, and Hakuba startles at the drape of his cape over his shoulder as he leans in over his detective, gloved hand keeping his hand over his eyes and pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

“You’re cute,” Kaito says, voice dropping into a low croon, pleased when Kuroba flushes. He is right, though, and it was too good an opportunity to  _ not _ tease him. “Can I steal you from your boyfriend, tantei-san?”


	14. Fighting Boyfriends / HakubaxKuroba

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Situation in which everyone except for the two parties involved already knows that they're dating.

There’s a soft rustle of cloth, and there is a white figure at his window. Silently, it climbs over the windowsill, and giving the beeping machines a disdainful look, comes to stop next to his bed.

“KID.” Hakuba nods slightly at him, giving up on sleep completely. He has never been able to sleep well in a foreign environment, much less in a hospital. “To what do I owe this visit to?”

The look KID gives him is far from friendly. Instead, the thief plucks the clipboard from the end of the bed, giving it a cursory once over. Not that he needs to read it. Hakuba is certain that he already knows what he is in for.

“So. What happened back there?” The thief replaces the clipboard, adopting a casual stance. Hakuba doesn’t like the patronising smile on the thief’s face, and would have sat up if the thief would let him. As it is, it seems a better option to remain still to keep from inciting anymore of his wrath than he already has.

“You’ve already read the report, haven’t you? You don’t need me to tell you what you already know.”

“Oh, no.” The thief leans forwards, and Hakuba tries to scoot away from him. If the thief doesn’t look menacing before, he looks downright murderous right now. “What I’m interested to know which the reports don’t talk about is why you were so  _ careless _ .”

His smile is more teeth than amusement, and Hakuba actually flinches when his hand moves away from the railing to reach for him. It gives KID pause, then the hand returns to the railing again.

“I’m waiting,” the white-clad thief prompts him when the silence has gone on a beat too long for his liking.

“They had… hostages,” Hakuba says lamely, avoiding eye contact with the thief. “He wasn’t - we cannot guarantee their safety past the given timeline, especially with how erratically - “

“So you thought you’d trade with them, correct?” The thief says cheerfully, and Hakuba thinks if he wasn’t dead because their serial killer didn’t do a good job of killing him, he is very dead now. “What the  _ fuck _ , Hakuba.”

“It’s none of your business, is it?” Hakuba snaps, because it’s been a thoroughly taxing week. He’s had to deal with dead teenagers, a tonne of paperwork, a crazy serial killer and being a hostage for three days before anyone cottoned on, and he has nothing left in him to deal with an angry thief just because he did what needed to be done. “Should I have sat back and let him kill that girl?”

“Don’t twist my words. So you think playing right into his hands when you knew it was you he wanted was an equally great idea?” The monocle flashes silver above his face, before the thief visibly takes in a deep breath, and takes a step backwards away from the bed. “You don’t usually get so involved.”

“And you don’t know me that well, so don’t pretend you do.”

“Oh, I don’t? I see how it is then. Please, don’t let me keep you from your rest and upholding the law.” KID sweeps him a mocking bow. “We pay our taxes for you to hurl yourself into life threatening situations so that we wouldn’t have to. Thank you for your good job today, tantei-san.”

He’s gone before Hakuba can say anything to that scathing parting remark. When he is sure KID is gone, he lies back, and stares at the ceiling. That had gone well. KID is… pissed is a vast understatement, but he thought that he would have understood, having pranced around rooftops in his teenage years to lure a trigger happy criminal syndicate out into the open. The ceiling doesn’t give him any answers, and so he reaches under his pillow and retrieves his cellphone. It’s still daytime in London, so Kudou should still be awake. It rings for at least ten seconds before Kudou does pick up, sounding distracted.

“I’m told to tell you to use your genius brain to think really hard about what you did,” Kudou says before he could get in a greeting. “It didn’t go well, I presume?”

Hakuba groans.


	15. Over my dead body

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quickly abandoned for You,Therefore.  
> If anyone has interest in picking this up do let me know!

He’s never had the chance to see tantei-kun work a crime scene up close - funny that, since the little detective always had a tendency to inspire an untimely urge to do murder in random members of society wherever he went, but we digress. It’s interesting (as far as bodies went, mostly just the intellect that the little boy was displaying, really, since Kaito didn’t like dead bodies), and, honestly, this was tantei-kun in his specific area of expertise. Watching the professionals at work will be entertaining, at least.

Too bad it was his own body everyone was standing over.

Technically, he shouldn’t even be existing anymore (but the fact that he does implies that ghosts do exist?). Aoko’s already been led away by Hakuba, who was apparently the one to check his body (and also the same person to announce that he is now a dead body and that there is suspected foul play - thanks, Hakuba) and who didn’t return a good ten minutes after tantei-kun had bounded up and declared it a crime scene and could everyone just back off before they could contaminate everything.

“Stop sniffing my dead body,” Kaito groused, watching tantei-kun lean in to sniff at his collar. Deaf to his words, tantei-kun only hooked a finger into his collar to peer at something, before rocking back onto his heels with a thoughtful expression, eyes roving over his corpse. “Find anything yet?”


	16. Hostages

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Violence, as typical of hostage situations... more like kidnap in this case.

Hakuba suppresses a cough, moaning in pain at the blinding stab of pain in his side. Lying down, he figures, is going to be interesting from now on. Carefully, he pushes himself back into an upright position, well aware of how much his arms are shaking (focus, focus, no, not on how much you ache, focus). Sharp movement, and he flinches involuntarily, bracing himself for the blow but no, false alarm. The man is only reaching up to push his fringe out of his face, wiping sweat off of his forehead.

“You know, I feel as though we’re missing something. Between me and you.” The man indicates the space between them cordially, clearly pleased by the fear that he has instilled into him successfully. “We go such a long way back, tantei-san… You’re so frigid, man. At least give me a good reaction for the effort I’m putting in!”

He follows it up with a hard blow to his shoulder, and Hakuba cries out again when pain shoots down his arm and up his neck, vision going grey. By the time he is coming back to his senses, concrete unforgivingly rough against his cheek, the man is whistling that godawful tune again. It couldn’t have been more than three hours, give or take. How long does it take to find one teenage boy, kidnapped in broad daylight and with multiple eyewitnesses? Then again, with how sloppy the man is being, Hakuba is afraid that the man isn’t so much bothered with getting caught than being allowed to cause as much damage to Hakuba as he can between now and till the point that help arrives.

A loud thud draws his attention again, and fear curls tight at the base of his spine as the man empties as bucket of water over an unconscious Kuroba, trussed up in rope and missing his school blazer and shoes. The teenager moans, shuddering, and the man sets the bucket aside, wiping his hands on his trousers.

“Caught this rat sniffing around. Friend of yours?” The man drags Kuroba up into a sitting position, the teen leaning heavily against the crates behind his back, and begins slapping him on the cheek roughly. “He’s got quite a lot of interesting tricks.”

“He’s not a friend,” Hakuba forces out between chattering teeth. “Let him go. Your beef is with me.”

“I know that. But you know what?” The man hums, picking up Kuroba’s right hand and curling the fingers up into a fist before stretching them out again, the boy groggily coming to with a quiet groan. “Since I’m already in trouble anymore, one more victim wouldn’t hurt?”

And to Hakuba’s horror, he takes a firm hold of Kuroba’s ring finger just as the teen blinks his eyes open, and breaks it with a sharp cracking sound.


	17. DIET and baby photos (angel/demon AU)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The unfinished AU where Kaito is Hell's official ambassador demon with his face just on every dirty ad material they print out yearly and Shinichi buys into the whole Kuroba-eats-babies-for-breakfast-if-he-could rumor.
> 
> I feel like I wrote this so long ago.

Shinichi doesn’t straighten from his bow until the prime minister is out of sight, then immediately fixes a glare onto the demon lounging suggestively against the side of the prime minister’s immaculate desk.

“You again.”

Kuroba tips his head to the side in a manner clearly calculated to be seductive, fingers trailing down the length of his silk tie, knot loose around his collar. “You could be nicer, meitantei, seeing as you’ve just interrupted some important business of mine.” The smirk accompanying his words made it clear exactly what ‘business’ it was, and Shinichi feels the prick of familiar irritation in his chest as the demon licks his lips in a clear invitation. “Why don’t you come here and wrap things up for me in his stead?”

Holding onto his sense of professionalism, Shinichi coughs, sneaking a glance at the desk for any discerning clues to the game the demon is playing. “What are you doing here?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” The demon lets his head fall back, toning down his salacious grin, uncrossing his legs. “I’m infiltrating DIET for my own nefarious purposes - obviously. The PM’s in my pocket, don’t you know?”

Revulsion crawls across his skin, and Shinichi shakes it off as he would a fly before he is further dragged down by these unprofessional feelings that the demon evokes in him. “The man’s  _ married _ . Politics isn’t your field.”

“Yeah, but go big or go home, right? I wanted to play, so I figured, why not meddle with the big game? Petty crime gets so boring, you understand. Now, if I can get a scandal on the news… “ The demon pulls his tie out from around his collar swiftly, tucking it away into a pocket. “Think of it. The crying wife, the shamed husband, the humiliated politician and their rebellious children. The media would descend upon them like sharks. Lovely, isn’t it - woah.”

Kuroba jerks back at the sight of his unsheathed blade, a hand coming up defensively against the spelled metal. For one of Hell’s best (as advertised), Kuroba is oddly defenceless, often found without so much as a measure of defense in place. Then again, he could simply be aiming to mislead his opponents into complacency. Not willing to bet against Kuroba’s tactics, Shinichi grips the hilt of his knife tightly, and carefully watches for any answering move that the demon might make.

Indigo eyes glance from his blade back to him, then Kuroba wraps his arms across his torso in an oddly shy manner. “I… I really don’t like knifeplay,” he mumbles, clutching at the open collar of his shirt.

The image of Kuroba, lips bitten cherry plump with thin lines of red scored across the thin skin of his back and thighs springs unbidden into his mind, and Shinichi immediately banishes the thought, making a sort of slashing motion towards the demon. “I’m going to send you back in ribbons, just for  _ that _ .”

(So no, not really helping the case there, he thinks.)

“Why? Are you jealous? I mean, I’ve done worse for shoots, and even worse for gain.” Clearly having figured out the path his thoughts had taken, Kuroba turns up his nose at him, rubbing a hand up and down his arm in a gesture of comfort. “Don’t meddle in my affairs. The PM and I go a long way back, so children should just stick to what children do.  _ Go home, meitantei _ .”

He is taking a step towards the door before he even realises what has happened, Kuroba’s words a compulsion spell weaving around him. Soft laughter, then Kuroba is gone, leaving Shinichi alone in the office. Biting back a curse, Shinichi prays for patience and vanishes the blade, scouring the office for any traces of compulsion the demon might have left behind for the PM. He finds none, but Kuroba’s sly. There has to be something. Clenching his fist, Shinichi weighs the pros and cons of spending an entire week tailing the PM, and takes his leave.

::

The PM greets Kuroba like an old friend.

Kuroba grins, slapping the PM’s offered palm in some kind of high-five, and hip checks him shamelessly. They’re in a semi-public area, but no one’s paying them any sort of attention. The PM accepts the offered rose from the demon’s hand with a matching grin of his own, then slaps him hard on the back.

“You’re magic,” he says breathlessly, cheeks flushed red. “She  _ loved _ it!”

“Japan’s important, but so’s a work-life balance,” Kuroba says sagely after he’s gotten his breath back. “It’s just like placing your bets on a single policy and having to clean up for years because of it. So do I get to see any photos, or are those for family only?”

Careful to keep his presence from them, Shinichi watches as they huddle heads over the PM’s phone. Kuroba laughs, a surprisingly bright sound, and coos fondly at whatever’s on the screen. Coming from a demon, it’s a decidedly odd sound, but one that isn’t bad. “She’s sweet. You’re lucky.”

“Am I?” the PM smiles down warmly at the photos. “But somehow, I feel that it has nothing to do with luck at all. Still, I am thankful and unbearably grateful that despite my mistakes and shortcomings, life has still saw fit to… “

“Oh, crumpets,” says Kuroba (surprisingly, because that’s only something Shinichi’s ever heard Hakuba saying), and pulls out a string of handkerchiefs from the pocket of jeans, unknotting one and putting it into the PM’s hands. “Please. Please don’t cry. Here. Clean yourself up.”

“Forgive me for being emotional… “ the man blows his nose noisily into the handkerchief, then dabs at his cheeks with it. Kuroba grimaces, but gamely pats him on the shoulder. “Japan needs more young people like you.”

Kuroba snorts, clearly amused. To Shinichi’s knowledge, the demon is easily over hundreds of years old - hardly young by human standards. Bit green for demons, and it probably is what gives Kuroba cause for overachieving, throwing himself fully into his work as an ambassador of Hell. His enthusiasm is almost embarrassing, if he weren’t so earnest about it.

“That’s your job, isn’t it? No one’s born to think or be a certain way. You have to cultivate them. Might take years or generations for the old mindset to be wiped out completely, but I’m sure you already have more than a handful who will agree with you.” Kuroba whistles quietly, face scrunched up in thought. “Oh, but if you want a generation of kids looking like me, then I guess you will just have to resort to implementing nationwide plastic surgery.”

Shinichi smiles when the PM begins to poke at Kuroba, clearly starting off on a long lecture with him. The demon sticks his tongue out childishly, then glances over the space where Shinichi is standing. The angel stiffens, but relaxes when the demon’s gaze passes right over him without any sign of having noticed that he is there. Deciding that he’s seen enough, Shinichi takes his leave, thinking over what he’s just seen.

_ I’m infiltrating DIET for my own nefarious purposes. _

For what? Baby photos?

He will just have to wait and see.


	18. the devil and his selfies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still the same AU.
> 
> I realise you can have 230 characters for the title wow that's long

The soft, unmistakable  _ shick _ of a camera has him turning around on reflex, only to look right into the dark lens of a phone camera just as another  _ shick _ goes off again.

“Yo, meitantei!” Kuroba Kaito waves at him with his free hand, tongue between teeth as he saves the image to his gallery. “Today is also a no-smiling day! You’re very distracted, mm?”

“What’s it to you?” Shinichi demands, making a grab for the phone only for the demon to dance out of his reach, the clover charm swinging wildly. “ _ Delete _ that.”

“No,” whines Kuroba, drawing the sound out obnoxiously and cradling the phone to his chest. He’s changed to a new model again. “Hey, meitantei... did you know that humans weren’t that far off the mark when they decided that they can capture a soul through the lens of a camera?”

“...and?”

“So the short explanation is that we can’t capture a soul through a lens, but we can capture part of it through their emotions. Not good for possession, but good enough for a spell. It’s bothersome, sure, but I probably have a hundred of yours by now, if you know what I mean.”

Shinichi narrows his eyes, irritation becoming a familiar burn beneath his breastbone, Kaito slyly watching him with a clear challenge in his eyes. “Is that a threat?”

The phone snaps shut with a sharp click. “If I am?”

“You know it won’t work, Kuroba. Leave. I’m not in the mood to play with you today.”

“But I  _ am _ ,” comes the obnoxious reply. “C’mon, you’re no fun. You only hang around dead bodies. You’ve brought enough justice down upon my town. Must I create a crime scene myself just to get your undivided attention?”

The spell that he throws out at the demon crackles loudly before fizzling out, deflected by the other’s sharp reflexes. Kuroba skips sideways, hands tucked away into his pockets, wary. “Sometimes, I wonder why I keep you around,” the demon says testily.

“Sometimes, I ask myself the same thing.”

“Hey! I was here first. And besides, you’d get into trouble with the entirety of Hell for killing one of their best? And an ambassador, on top of that?” Kuroba shrugs, the motion odd as though he is shuffling out invisible wings.

“‘One of their best’?” Shinichi touches the tilt of his blade, and watches Kuroba hunch his shoulders defensively. “Isn’t that false advertisement? You’re just a pretty face to me.”

“Being an ambassador is hard work!” Sure, if hard work consists of getting photographed in increasingly lewd situations. The contraband material never fails to find its way into Heaven, Shinichi is sad to say.  “But… you admit I’m pretty, so just for that, I’ll let you win this round.”

Before Shinichi can say anything, the demon disappears, the tips of his ears red. The irritation balloons into something else, squashy and persistent, taking up so much space in his chest that he finds it hard to breathe, and Shinichi ends up going extra hard on a couple of law-offenders that he meets.

Kuroba being Kuroba and a figurative pain in everyone’s ass, he sends Shinichi his edited photographs by evening. Shinichi takes a look at his own edited face, and before he can throw his phone away, Hakuba plucks it out of his hand, scrolling through them with a calculatedly neutral expression on his face.

“You ran into Kuroba today, didn’t you? It’s all over twitter.”

“Do people have nothing better to do than to talk?”

“The both of you are celebrities,” Hakuba sighs mock-mournfully, handing his phone back to him. “It can’t be helped. But it is good that you are getting along well. If you gave him so much as a paper cut, he would cry my ears off for days.”

“...Is it wise, being on close terms with a demon?” Shinichi tucks the phone back into his pocket, accepting the curry korokke that Hakuba passes along to him.

“He’s taught me that the law isn’t absolutely black and white. We all speak of the War, yes, but isn’t it a Cold War by now? We may be… friends, but I know where my duty lies if it ever comes to it. He isn’t like the others, though. Give him time, you’ll see.” Hakuba crunches noisily into his own food, and Shinichi tosses a packet of grape juice onto his lap. “In the meantime, I will continue to indulge in my vices, so to speak.”

“...right.”


	19. No good with needles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idol!AU, HakuKai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an extensive write down of this whole AU but I don't have the time.

The hand pulls harder on his shirt, and Hakuba rubs at Kuroba’s back in what he hopes is a soothing manner. They’re tying the tourniquet around his arm now, and so Hakuba keeps his other hand on the back of Kuroba’s head to keep him from looking. When they swab the alcohol swab across his elbow, Kuroba goes all stiff in his arms with a quiet, frightened sound, and Hakuba bends down to make shushing noises into his hair, never ceasing the firm circles over Kuroba’s shoulder blade.

Ever since they had ushered them into the clinic for the next segment of the show, Kuroba had gone increasingly quiet and still, as though not to draw any attention to himself. Then, their coach had announced that this segment will include a blood test, and all the colour had left Kuroba’s face immediately. It had taken a lot of coaxing and a whole lot of dragging to get him to abandon his corner, Kuroba digging in his heels stubbornly, lips pinched into a tight line as the crew members deposited him into the chair. Hakuba had known that Kuroba has some kind of issue with needles, but he had no idea that the situation would be so bad.

“Don’t tense up so much, or the needle will b- “ the crew members falters, then goes silent when Hakuba glares at him.

It’s bad enough that they’re pushing Kuroba through this stupid entertainment programme and putting all of it on screen, profiting off of his fear. Their fans will pay in blood just for the scene alone, the idea of their devil-may-care idol brought down by something as simple as a fear for needles too great a temptation for them to resist. Hakuba understands that it is simply their manager’s way of increasing their earnings and viewership, but when Kuroba is a shaking mess in his arms, it is a rather bitter truth to swallow.

Gods. Sometimes, he really hates their job.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs to Kuroba, the man still maintaining a death grip on his shirt. He can’t see his face, but that’s okay. If he can’t see his expression, then no one else can. “Breathe slowly.”

A choked whimper escapes Kuroba when the needle slides into the crook of his elbow, letting go of Hakuba’s shirt to grab for his hand instead. Hakuba thinks he’s about to break all of the fingers in his left hand from how hard Kuroba’s squeezing it, but lets him have it anyway.

“It’s okay,” Hakuba repeats dumbly as blood flows from the needle into the plastic tubing. “It’ll be done soon. We’ll get you grilled fish as a reward later.”

A fist thumps weakly into his side, and Kuroba burrows closer into his chest with a suspiciously wet sounding sniff.

“Bastard.”

::

“That had been entirely unexpected. Good move by the way, Saguru.” Their manager cracks open a can of coffee, chugging half of its contents while Hakuba turns his bottle of water over and over in his hands. “What with yours and his supposed animosity, the fans will love this unexpected development between the both of you. In fact, it may be an interesting aspect… “

“I didn’t do it for the fans,” Hakuba cuts in coldly, getting up from his chair. “I understand your stance, but please don’t push him so hard. He was terrified.”

“A good opportunity for him to further develop his image, I think, but I will take your words and his health into consideration. Although I hope that you will also understand that in this business, some of it is regretfully unavoidable… “

“I know.” Hakuba grips the doorknob tight, and lets none of the displeasure that he is feeling show on his face. “Please excuse me, I would like to check on how he is doing before our next session.”

“To be honest - “ Hakuba pauses in the doorway patiently, but their manager shakes his head. “No. Nevermind. Please go ahead, Saguru.”

Hakuba nods at him with a polite smile, and leaves, dropping the smile entirely once the door has shut behind his back. Five more hours, maybe six if the camera crew decides to drop by their sleeping quarters to scope out their sleeping arrangement, then they can rest.

Six hours. He grimaces, checking his pocket watch for the time before making his way to the room where he knows Kuroba’s hidden into for break time. Either way, if Kuroba breaks character in any way for the rest of the day, everyone will likely forgive it in light of the fright he’s had.

He just hopes that it wouldn’t make things awkward between the both of them.


	20. Witch's Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING
> 
> Gore, violence, blood, body horror?
> 
> Also contains my pretty much OP OCs
> 
>  
> 
> The other write-up includes cannibalism which I may or may not get to maybe a decade later. This was written quite a good while ago so I can't really remember what I was thinking when I did it, but I did it anyway.
> 
> As an explanation, they're draining his blood for use to revive Hakuba (the prince)'s kingdom after they've killed off their last witch. Shinichi, long aware of this fact that they'll try to get to Kaito has chased him far out from the reach of the kingdom but the prince, eager to prove his worth has set out and gotten him back anyway.
> 
> (and of course, the prince had foolishly traded away his own heart for a wish which he'd forgotten about until now, and something else I've already forgotten but w/e ok)

They’re draining his blood when he bursts into the lower chambers. There is a limp body tied fast to the tilted metal table to the side, the one with the drains running along the edges, red collecting and dripping down into a bucket underneath. Kuroba barely stirs when he tackles the men wearing aprons with a shout, mewling quietly through the gag in his mouth.

“Oh god,” Hakuba breathes, hands fluttering over his too still body, skin so pale he can see the map of veins underneath. “Oh god. Kaito.  _ Kaito _ . Please.”

He undoes the leather straps holding him down, but remains at a loss to the deep cuts running along his forearms. How much blood can a human lose before they go entirely into shock? Hakuba is still frozen when Kudou bursts through the door with a yell, shoving him aside before tearing out a long strip of cloth that he quickly uses to bind Kuroba’s arm from elbow to wrist.

“Do his other arm! Quickly!” Kudou throws the other tangled strip at him, Hakuba fumbling to wrap the makeshift bandages tightly around Kuroba’s arm, clumsy from horror. “Fuck! Why did you have to bring him back?! Kaito, don’t sleep!”

The familiar terror in Kudou’s voice is paralysing, and Hakuba can only watch dumbly as Kudou draws a hand back to slap Kuroba hard on one cheek, then the other. “I didn’t know,” he whispers, hands shaking as he reaches for Kuroba again. “I didn’t - “

“Why did you think I banished him all those years ago?! Why didn’t you bother with a check?! I told you - “ Kudou drags in a wet breath, eyes glittering with anger and unshed tears, feral. “Doctor. We need to get him to a doctor - “

“We won’t make it in time,” Hakuba chokes out. It’s flooding in now, the gravity of what he’s done, loud above the cotton wool buzz in his head, the knowledge that Kuroba will never survive to see another day with all the blood he’s lost. If he had never forced Kuroba here, none of this would have happened.

It’s all his fault.

“Help me or get out of my way,” Kudou snarls, abandoning him to the butchering table for transportation to get Kuroba out of the palace. Belatedly, distantly, Hakuba realises that Kuroba is missing a few fingers on his left hand. He won’t be able to do magic again, even if he survives. No sleight of hand, no card tricks.

Kuroba isn’t breathing.

Fear, then there’s a burning sensation lighting up from inside his chest, and Hakuba reaches out to link his hand with Kuroba’s own. He’s cold to the touch, and Hakuba runs fingers through his matted hair, the burning sensation ramping up and spreading out until it has chased all of the air out of his lungs, a white hot star where his heart should have been.

The stone, Hakuba realises.  _ Of course _ .

“Kaito,” he chokes, holding their hands up to his chest, before leaning over and hacking up the stone over Kuroba’s chest with a wet sound, vision going dark and blurry immediately as it leaves him, leaving behind a horrible, hollow feeling in him. It still looks like when he’d first seen it, alight from within like a million fireflies, and he grabs for it, a hot sun contained within a physical rock, holding it over where Kuroba’s heart should be, flesh burning where it has come into contact with the stone.

Dimly, he hears Kudou shouting behind him, a loud commotion in the background, and fervently, feverishly, Hakuba makes the one and only wish in his life.

_ Live _ , he mouths, putting everything that he has left into the fire burning in their linked hands, sobbing in relief when it sinks through flesh and skin.  _ Please, God, let him live _ .

Arms grab him by the waist, and, too weak to fight them off, Hakuba lets them drag him backwards off of Kuroba, grinning loopily up at Kudou’s face, pale and terrified above his even as darkness tows what little consciousness he has underneath.

He’d felt Kuroba’s chest expand with the first strong breath he’d taken, and that is enough for him.

It has to be enough.

::

“Hey, some people are finally acknowledging that I’m a God,” Darling hums, a large fractured piece of amber held suspended between his open palms, throwing off fragments of light as it spins in midair.

“You’ve been meddling again,” the little boy says disapprovingly, slotting a book back onto the shelf with more force than actually needed, sending the star a glare.

“What is romance without a little tragedy?” Darling grins unrepentantly, eyes never leaving his work. “Even Shakespeare agrees.”

“Need I remind you that you don’t read?”

“Damn. Fine then. I find it entertaining. Happy?” Darling uncrosses his legs, then gets up from the armchair. “I gave him a chance to bring his lover back. No one died. It wasn’t anything bad.”

“Other than the bit where you’ve cursed their kingdom and their prince? Burnt his heart into ashes?” Irritated, the boy makes a clicking sound with his tongue, sweeping off to the study, stomping. “Too much is too much, you meddlesome creature.”

“Pot, Kettle,  ▉▉▉▉▉.”


	21. today, tomorrow, and the day after / Hakukai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very, very brief skirting nsfw

A bright rectangle of light burns across the corridor, leaking in from where the living room door has been left ajar, and Hakuba toes off his shoes quietly, leaving his keys in the glass bowl by the main door. He drifts towards the half open door instead of towards the stairs back up to his room, pausing for a brief moment with his hand on the doorknob in the dark, hesitating. He should take a shower, he thinks. It’s his house. He can bloody well go wherever he likes, so why is he still standing in the dark? Nonsense, like silverfish in his head, flashing bright and gone in the next, then someone clears their throat from within the living room, and startled, his thoughts flee, abandoning him and leaving him to stand stupidly in front of their living room door.

“Are you going to come in anytime soon, or do I have to come and fetch you?”

Push the door open, squint against the searing light, and Kaito is sprawled along the length of their sofa, reading a children’s book. Hakuba shuts the door behind him with a foot, and shuffles over to drop a kiss on the top of his husband’s head.

“I’m home,” he says, Kaito looking entirely unimpressed with him, not bothering to look away from his book. Something about bears and jellyfish, if the illustration on the front cover is anything to go by.

“I’ve never seen anyone enter their own home like a thief. Bend down lower.” He obeys, and is rewarded when Kaito lifts his head slightly from the armrest to kiss him on the lips. “Spill. What did you do?”

“Nothing.” Not a lie, but Kaito is never easily pleased. Less so, when he has caught onto the tail of a mystery. His husband is rather high maintenance, even though the man himself will deny it till the end of time. He sticks his hand into Kaito’s soft hair to distract him, tugging gently on the soft, silky strands and massaging his scalp the way he knows he likes it. Kaito rumbles quietly, then dislodges him with a shake of his head. “Really. Do you know me to be a liar?”

“Never too late to pick up on bad habits.” Rustling paper, Kaito still too intent on the book and its illustrations to look away. “You’re being really odd, you know.”

Is odd the word for it? He does feel a little out of sorts, himself, and yet not quite all there, a little hollow and rootless and drifting. Hakuba puts his hand on Kaito’s head again, refusing to be deterred so easily. “I’m being nostalgic,” he informs him.

“Means that you’re coming along nicely in your age,” says Kaito, always the person to rely on when it comes to having ridiculous answers for ridiculous situations. “Did you get a new batch of juniors or something? Some new jumped up highschool detective charging right into your crime scene?”

“Mm, good notion.” They share the same shampoo and conditioner, but he can never get his hair to be as soft as Kaito’s. “But no.”

Another page. Kaito hums at the illustration of a bear. “Go take a bath, Hakuba. Is teriyaki chicken fine for dinner?”

A metallic click, a long pause, then Kaito finally looks up from the book at him. He still looks unimpressed.

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t lower the book when Hakuba climbs onto the sofa to straddle his waist, barely blinks when Hakuba leans in to nose at his neck. The book, Hakuba feels, is getting in the way.

“Kaito.”

“Yes?”

Kaito has something of a death grip on his book when he tugs on it, and Hakuba reads mild displeasure from his face.

“Nostalgia, is it?”

“Quite so,” Hakuba agrees, tugging on the chain of the handcuffs locked around Kaito’s wrists. “I realised that I never got to do this.”

“You’re a bit late for this. I’m retired.” Kaito doesn’t react when he leans in to steal a kiss from his lips. “Bath, Hakuba.”

“Hmm,” Hakuba says, pulling back to survey his handiwork. It isn’t quite as he had imagined, the real thing just not as satisfying -

“You’re a pervert, you know that?”

Drop the key, cover up his spluttering to recover it from between the cushions, and Hakuba knows that he’s completely transparent to Kaito from the quirk on his lips. “I am  _ not _ .”

“Are too.” Childish squabbling, wonder where this will lead to, then a strong thigh nudges up between his own to grind tantalisingly into - oh.  _ Oh _ .

No.

“No,” he repeats dumbly, because things always sound better in the open.

“No?” The smile sharpens, and now his husband looks positively wicked, dragging pressure along building anticipation and stretching his handcuffed hands up over his head. “Then what do you call this? Relieving old fantasies? You’re all excited, Hakuba. Positively red as a lobster.”

“I - “ A sharp inhale, cold air filling lungs, focus, and he is distracted once more by the teasing friction against his arousal. “I never - “

“ _ Confess _ ,” Kaito commands imperiously, and he is still very much the thief that he claims he’s retired from, cunning, sly, daredevil tricky. “Denial will get you nowhere. The sooner we can get to the bottom of the truth, the sooner you will be absolved of your guilt.”

“Are you using my lines against me?”

“Am I? Interrogation can be fun too.”

“My bath - “

“Your lawyer isn’t coming. No one will be bailing you out of this.” Kuroba tips his head to the side, and the sight of his bared neck tears an almost wounded whine out of Hakuba. “You put yourself into this hot soup, Saguru.  _ Now confess and own up to your crimes _ .”

“Old files… just reviewing old files, Kaito,  _ please _ .”

“And this?” An open challenge, tongue licking lips. Hakuba opens his mouth, and - doesn’t say a thing, because he doesn’t have an answer to the question. It feels like… it feels like when he’s missed a clue in the riddle again, missed a step in their elaborate cat and mouse game, feels like grabbing for Kid’s silk mantle only to be snatching at empty air and being left behind in a noisy building with the colourful remains of his heists to mark his passing.

Kaito hooks his cuffed hands around Hakuba’s neck, and pulls him down for a long, lingering kiss, persisting until Hakuba parts his lips enough for him to slip his tongue in.

“You’ve married me,” Kaito informs him, fingers petting at the back of his head. “Too late for regrets now, husband mine.”

“Too late?”

The book is nowhere to be found between them, and Kaito draws him down for another sloppy kiss.

  
“It’s not a dream,” Kaito says, and Hakuba decides then that he must be right.


	22. Worship and Blasphemy / Kaishin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Offshoot from that particular Angel/Demon AU...  
> Sort of lost track of it after a while :'c

He wakes up abruptly to a hand, warm and solid in the middle of his back, pinning him down to the bed and Shinichi nearly heaves the offender off with his wings, white hot pain spiking down his wings up into his spine at the slight movement. Blinding panic, then a heavy, familiar, pungent signature closes in around him, and Shinichi whimpers, giving up the fight immediately, Kaito’s voice in his ear.

“Easy,” Kaito murmurs, a steady pressure on his back. “Easy. You’ll hurt yourself if you move so suddenly.”

Shinichi pants into his pillow, the pain still working itself out of his system, sharp, hot sparks that has him twitching involuntarily, and he buries his nose into the pillow to keep from the temptation of reaching for Kaito’s magic signature for comfort. The hand rubs at his flank, then Kaito exhales through his nose, the hand removing itself to hover in the air an inch from his left wing. Helpless to stop him, Shinichi screws his eyes shut, bracing for the impending pain but it never comes. The weight on the bed shifts, and fingers brush gently over his temple instead.

“If you thought for a moment there that I was going to hurt you, I’m going to beat you up once you’re better.” Kaito sighs, petting over his cheek. “I think you’ve done enough damage to yourself, you stupid detective.”

Kaito looks grave when he opens his eyes, brow furrowed in worry. He feels guilty, somehow, having been the cause of that worry, being Kaito’s sole attachment to Tokyo, a chink in his otherwise flawless armor. A hand slides into his own, Kaito giving his hand a gentle squeeze, clearly having read his thoughts and wanting to reassure him.

“‘s okay… “ Shinichi whispers, throat by far too raw to speak, rubbing his thumb over Kaito’s hand, the demon only looking more pained. “Border skirmishes.”

“You’re a detective, not the heavenly traffic police. Why’d I have to go and fall in love with a blockhead like you?” Kaito grimaces, then leans in to press a kiss to a bare shoulder. “I’ll fix you, don’t worry. You seriously look like shit, though.”

Shinichi feels laughter bubbling in his throat, and coughs violently, tears pricking at his eyes at the resurgent of pain. Kaito more or less paws awkwardly at his arm, clearly frustrated that he cannot take the pain away. The injuries that his physical body has sustained are bad, Shinichi intensely aware of each fracture and bruise and broken bone, but by far more terrifying is the damage that he had taken to his grace, ragged holes of nothing when there should have been something. Wide, frightening gaps with nothing to bridge the distance, his energy spent and powered so low that it is completely out of his grasp. He can still feel the weak pulse of it in him, a distant and faraway song that he no longer remembers the lyrics of, and idly, absently, he accepts the fact that he may never fully remember how to sing again.

“Are you thinking about stupid things again?” A finger taps him on the nose, bringing him back to full awareness. Shinichi hadn’t been aware that he’d been drifting off. “You’ve got that look on your face.”

If anything, Kaito looks more worried at the fond smile that he gives him.

“Who’s the troublemaker now, hmm?” Kaito smells like antiseptic when he leans in close, and Shinichi sighs, eyes fluttering close despite the insistent throb of pain dancing somewhere in the between. “I haven’t got much to work with, what with your propensity for handing away your grace to criminals, but you won’t lose your wings. I promise you that.”

Shinichi nearly coughs again, a sardonic smile pulling at his lips. His wings are rather beyond repair, if he does think so himself. He doesn’t fly - can’t - since he’s gone below the halfway mark by giving away so much of himself, and they only turn duller with each passing day. He might be better off without them, honestly. Who needs that much dead weight attached to their back? By now, he’s sure that they’re an eyesore from the lack of use and grooming, a mess of broken feathers matted together with blood, dirt and grime. The last he’d seen them, they’d been some kind of weird dishwater colour. He wonders what Kaito thinks of them, the demon’s wings always strong and pristine.

“You can’t… “

“Ooh, I’m going to love proving you right in this department. I’ve have had much more experience than you in this. You know of the Evening Star, don’t you?” A hand covers his eyes, and Shinichi relaxes into the gentle darkness, consciousness dimming under the press of Kaito’s power. “Some of us used to be angels, after all.”

He feels himself struggle weakly against the heavy drag of sleep, then feels Kaito’s lips on his cheek before he succumbs fully, never hearing Kaito’s quiet chuckle by his ear.

“If I choose to disobey His Will out of love, is it worship, or blasphemy?”


	23. Argument / Hakukai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a sucker for arguments in fic... more when they actually devolve into fist fights.

Before he can register the hot sting on his palm, the shock of what he had just done still free from the pull of gravity and reality, the stunned look on Kuroba’s face turns livid, eyes glittering maniac angry, and then he is being bodily tackled backwards to the floor. Hakuba hits the floor hard, the drip stand goes with them, plastic tubing tangling around their legs, and Kuroba drives the rest of the air from his lungs with a solid punch to his solar plexus. Red hot pain, the sound of destruction in his ears, Kuroba pulls back for another heavy swing at him, and oh - Hakuba’s been here before.

He heaves, twisting up and out from underneath him, Kuroba unprepared for his retaliation but spitting for a fight, going under as Hakuba pins him with hands and knees, snarling. Nails dig into his wrist, hard enough to draw blood, and Hakuba growls, dropping his weight heavily onto Kuroba’s hips, knee pressed hard into his soft belly.

“Stop,” he barked, only for Kaito to snap his teeth viciously at him, pulling back just in time to avoid a headbutt. “ _ Stop _ . Kuroba!”

“Let go - “ Kuroba snarls, trying to push up against him, using the floor as leverage, thrashing. He manages to get a hand free, and rakes his nails across Hakuba’s cheek, narrowly missing an eye, at the same time shoving at him when he is off balance, scissoring his legs outwards while Hakuba reels, stunned.

“You - “ It doesn’t last for long. Pain, like hot oil doused on fire, and he fists a hand into the front of Kuroba’s bedclothes, yanking him forward as he headbutts him hard, and when Kuroba’s grip on his arms falter, and go slack, he takes the opportunity to bodily toss him back into bed.

“ _ What is happening here? _ ” A nurse, horrified, furious, at their door. Hakuba knows what it looks like - what they look like. Kuroba hasn’t tried to get up from the bed, clearly still stunned from the blow to his head, movements sluggish.

“Is this what you want?” Low, quiet, building up to a deafening roar. “Is this what you want? For Nakamori to lose a son because losing his daughter isn’t  _ enough _ ? You’re bloody selfish, is what you are, without thinking - “

Kuroba is glaring at him, eyes burning like acid, but the words won’t stop, a train wreck headed for destruction. Hakuba balls his hands into fists. Lower, wounded - “I would have lost a friend,” he whispered.

Glazed shock, light purple, hands, angry and tight on his arms and shoulders and he’s being hauled out, thrown out of Kuroba’s room. Nakamori’s face, pale and shocked in disbelief, and he isn’t getting enough air, the rushing of blood too loud in his ears. His hands hurt. His cheek hurts. A step around the corner, and he nearly goes to the ground as his leg gives out beneath him, caught only by courtesy of the orderlies.

“The  _ insolence _ ! Starting a  _ fight  _ in the hospital when you are also a patient yourself?” A nurse is cursing from somewhere around him, but he loses the rest of her words to the pain, flaring angry red. “How dare - “

“Sorry,” Hakuba mumbles to the floor. “Sorry.”

The noise goes louder, then dim, the floor suddenly much closer to his face and Hakuba finds himself thinking that it’s been a long time since he went into such a panic attack. Rather shameful, he thinks.

He doesn’t see Kuroba again for the rest of his hospital stay.


	24. Ballet AU / Kaishin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief hiatus on this - to be expanded into Coda, so I don't want to spoil anything. Those with me on tumblr probably already know.

He’s coming out of his fouett é when the studio door opens, and clicks shut again. Kuroba sets down his water bottle and towel by the barre, then sinks to the floor into the first of his warm-ups. Shinichi registers his focus on him dimly through the mirror, himself too intent on perfecting his form. Attitude, allong é into arabesque, then -

“It’s boring to do a pas de deux by yourself, isn’t it?”

In the mirror, Kuroba grins at him, his chin propped on both hands. He’s shifting forwards onto his pelvis in a split, movements slow and languid like a cat. Sometimes, Shinichi is jealous of his flexibility, the ease with which he is able to attain certain positions with the bare minimum of work. But then, that is just his bias talking. His flexibility is a double-edged sword, their master often pointing Kuroba out when he’s a little too loose in the hips during practice. Tombé en avant, weight on his left foot (remember to compensate) -

“I can be your partner.”

Having fouled his turn, Shinichi scowls, and goes to where he’s left his own bottle by the piano, running the towel around his neck and under his arms. His muscles feel sufficiently loose, warmed up, and he flexes his foot against the floor as he drains a quarter of the bottle in one go.

“I’m serious, Shinichi. Try me.” Undeterred by his silence, Kuroba goes on. “I can dance en pointe. Use me as your partner.”

The water sloshes as he sets it down, Shinichi approaching the barre to stretch himself out. “You won’t be able to keep up.”

“I know about your sadistic hours, you demon. I  _ can _ keep up. So? How about it? Admit it, you’re in sore need of practice. Just something fun. Dance is about fun, isn’t it?” Kuroba taps at his lips, thinking. “8PM, Studio 10? I know you have nothing on for the rest of the day, and no one’s going to use it.”

The door swings open again, and they’re not alone anymore, the studio filling slowly with student, bare footed and in leotard and cardigans, exchanging morning greetings quietly. Shinichi returns to his stretches, holding each stretch for a few seconds, luxuriating in the slow pull of his muscles before releasing it, Kuroba chattering on animatedly with the others as more file in.

The master walks in at 8.30 sharp with the pianist in tow, and everyone moves to the barre in a flurry. Kuroba passes by him to take his usual place closest to the pianist, and Shinichi looks up when he touches the back of his hand as he brushes by.

“I’ll be waiting,” Kuroba murmurs, eyes hard and serious before bounding up to the front of class.

Hand on the barre, spine straight, feet in first and left hand in bras bas, head turned out to class. The master nods, satisfied, and makes a gesture to the pianist. First exercise - pli és. Shinichi draws in breathe slowly, and empties his mind as the first few bars of music plays.

Class is now in session.

::

It’s odd, seeing Kuroba out of his dance attire, being somewhere with him that isn’t the school or one of its many studios. It’s odd, because Kuroba simply fits as though he belongs, sitting opposite him with a cinnamon latte and snug in a thick black hoodie and rugged jeans.

Odd, because for some reason, Shinichi’s never thought of him outside of the context of  _ dance _ and  _ school _ . Stupid, too, because surely Kuroba, like the rest of his class, has a normal life.

The waitress bustles past with someone’s order of cheese cake and sandwich, and Shinichi gives up on his pretense of fiddling with his coffee. Kuroba is still watching him, unblinking, steady, and unable to bear the weight of his gaze, Shinichi looks instead to the scenery outside of the window.

“I think I’m going to - “

He never finishes the sentence, his words muffled by a hot hand over his mouth. Kuroba’s half over the table, expression hard and serious, and for a second, the look in his eyes terrify him.

“Don’t,” Kuroba says, hand still pressed over Shinichi’s mouth. “Don’t say anything that you don’t mean.”

Awkwardly, and also mildly terrified, Shinichi swallows, and nods. Kuroba sits back down, the intensity in his eyes never lessening, and sits in silence as Shinichi says nothing. Minutes tick by, then with a last, undecipherable look at him, Kuroba grabs the strap of his bag and leaves abruptly.

Shinichi pointedly doesn’t watch his departure, eyes on his hands on his lap. Noise floods back in, and the bell on the door chimes again as someone new enters the cafe.

The mug of cinnamon latte continues to sit on the table, untouched, and Shinichi moves it over to his side. It’s troubling, having his carefully decided upon plans upset by someone whom he barely calls a friend. But if so, why didn’t he say anything, if he were so dead-set on quitting? Shinichi sighs, then takes a sip of Kuroba’s abandoned drink.

It’s disgustingly sweet, as always.


	25. Ghost Apples / HakuKai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for major character death.

There’s a purple thumbprint on the bone-yellow skin of the apple.

In the bowl of withering white, it stands out stark and accusing. Hakuba pours hot water into his mug, stirs in a spoonful of honey into his brewing tea, and pulls up a chair at the kitchen table. The parchment apples had been a gift from his visiting aunt, the early fruits from her backyard tree. Hakuba had thanked her, and then at a loss, had left them in a fruit bowl with the intention of throwing them out once they were overripe. Now, however, he picks up the bruised apple, and turns it carefully over in his hands. There, wrapped around the thin skin, the hint of bruises in the shape of fingers.

He doesn’t remember ever picking up the apples since leaving them out on the table, and no one’s come into his house that he knows of.

The apple, when he lifts it to his nose, is only ever so slightly perfumed, a soft, forgettable fragrance too faint for his nose to make out the exact notes clearly. Inhale, exhale, then decision made, he carries the entire basket over to the kitchen sink.

By now, he can bake a pie entirely from memory - flour, sugar, butter, the likes. He starts by preparing the pie dough, humming something he’s heard from the radio while buying mints on the way home from work. Flour, dusting cleaned work surface, dusting fingers, pulsing blocks of butter into smaller pieces and emptying it out to work the dough into a disc.

It’s much faster, now that his hands are bigger, and he’s stronger.

He peels the apples while the dough sits on a tray in his fridge.

Most of it is easy work. He thinks that the apples can be peeled with the side of a spoon, soft and yielding as they are. As it is, he punches through the flesh of one with a thumbnail when he squeezes too hard, and licks clear, sourish juice off of the side of his palm. Halves, quarters, and he chops up some of the rest the way grandmother used to. The seeds he picks out carefully with the blade of a teaspoon, flicking it into a plastic bag for disposal. Once, somebody has said that to swallow the seeds of an apple or a citrus fruit is to cement a curse cast upon oneself. Doesn’t know why, but it seems oddly important now.

Empty basket, uncooked pie in the oven, he retreats to his study for a book while the pie bakes.

Three chapters in, established plotline, beginning mystery and two vaguely suspicious characters later, Hakuba takes the pie out of the oven. Grandmother would be proud of his golden crust. The smell of freshly baked crust fills the kitchen, and disappointingly, the perfume of the apples do not carry over into it. Nevertheless, Hakuba puts it all into a large box for transport, and calls for a taxi.

The cemetery is cold and deserted by the time he arrives at its gates, Hakuba weaving through its sleeping occupants with the still warm box in his hands. He doesn’t have his greetings, now a prepared script this time, so he sets the box carefully down before the monument.

“I didn’t forget,” he says in lieu of a greeting. “You didn’t have to remind me.”

The grave is silent, and going down on one knee, Hakuba cuts a generous slice out of the ie and sets it out on a paper plate with a fork, turning it towards the monument. Kaito’s name overlooks the act solemnly, and Hakuba dusts off his knees when he gets to his feet again. Years, more than the fingers he has on one hand, and he has never been able to forget.

Kaito would love the ghost apples, he believes. Less so about eating them.

There is one more, sitting in the pocket of his jacket and he pulls it out, polishing soft skin on his sleeve. Mealy, tasteless, the flesh dissolves into thick mush on his tongue. Nevertheless, he chews, swallows, and bites again, fruit cotton wool heavy and dragging going down his throat.

He can’t taste them, but maybe Kaito could.

He wouldn’t know, anyway.

Wishful thinking.


	26. Home soon / Haibara Ai / General

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's such a spin reading back on fics a year old.  
> Who doesn't like some happy Ai? I do.

Sleeting rain and grey skies, the bright umbrella overhead a temporary shield from all the misery, she tucks her head lower into the loop of her thick scarf and hurries on her way home. Cold, seeping into bone, and Ai sighs internally, mincing her way carefully over the slippery roads, the low temperatures making her muscle stiff and the walk much more exhausting than usual. Vehicles, blaring bright lights, and she glares when one splashes a puddle over the sidewalk. If she hurries, she may just make it in time for the re-screening of that one movie on TV. Distracted, her foot slips, and she goes down in an awkward tumble, squealing, groceries scattered across the ground.

Forget the movie. Now, all Ai wants is for the rain to stop, and also a long, hot bath to soak in at home.

Cold rain like liquid ice runs down her neck, legs turning numb from where water has soaked into her clothes, and Ai is picking herself up from the ground when a hand wraps around her upper arm and pulls her quickly to her feet. There’s the familiar, quiet patter of raindrops hitting the fabric of her umbrella, and she blinks at the young man offering the handle of the umbrella back to her.

“Are you alright, miss? Please, uh, just a moment,” he takes a step back out of the shelter of her umbrella the moment she takes it from his hand, and before Ai can say a thing, he is already gathering up the fallen groceries from the ground, replacing items back into her bags. “Here.”

He holds out her bags to her, then blinks when she moves the umbrella to shelter the both of them.

“You’re getting wet,” she explains, reaching for her bags. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing! My jacket’s weatherproof. Are you alright? Where are you heading to? If it isn’t far, I can walk you home?” The last statement, posed as a question, the young man laughing awkwardly when she continues to look at him without answer. “Rainy weather is troublesome, so I thought if you would like the help - “

“Alright.” Ai nods to his own fallen umbrella on the ground. “I live nearby.”

“So… that’s a yes? I’m not troubling you, am I? I don’t want to be - annoyingly overly helpful, I mean, if it’s troublesome to you.” He scoops up his umbrella, and takes a few bags from her, letting her guide the way.

“I’ll let you know if you are,” she says, and his laughter is a bright sound in the grey.

Together, the journey home is quicker and easier. They part ways two blocks to her house, and Ai thanks him again, offering him a peach from her groceries which he declines, waving at her cheerily before jogging off back the way they came.

House, keys, and the rain is safely shut away outside. Ai flicks on the lights, stepping out of her wet shoes and socks, tracking wet footprints into the kitchen to put away the groceries. It’s been a long while, she thinks, ever since she’s grown back into her old body. Ten long years, and now she looks more like herself again even if she never will be quite the same old Miyano Shiho. It’s still a novelty at times, being alive, being tall enough to reach for the top shelf without assistance, being tall enough to look at someone in the eyes when she’s talking to them. It’s something that she can never get enough of, despite having ten years of slowly growing into it.

She takes by far too long in the bath than she should, and emerges with the skin on her fingers and toes all pruney. The heater is already running on full, Agasa having equipped their house with sensors to keep it at their preferred temperatures whenever they are home, and she dries her hair while the TV chirps from in front of the sofa.

Empty kitchen, empty study, she closes the door on their workshop, locks it with a keycard and a thumbprint. None of what they are working on now are time sensitive, and today, personally, isn’t much of a working day for her.

She curls up against the cushions on one side of the couch, the cushions on the other end nearly flattened - the professor’s side of it. The movie’s less interesting now that she’s seen it once already, and so she pulls her laptop over to her, waking it from sleep to check on Agasa’s conference at Green Data. There’s already a transcribe of his speech online, and she scrolls through it, a smile tugging on her lips as she remembers the nights he’s slaved over his script. Apparently, he wound up using only a total of two sentences from it.

Photos, interviews, talks with young scientists, and Ai clicks around for a little more before pulling her spectacles off of her face, setting it aside and reaching for her phone.

“Ai!” Noise, filtering in through the device, and she suppresses yet another grin at his enthusiasm. Data isn’t a part of her interests, but apparently, it’s a side interest of Agasa, who has  _ a lot _ to say about it. “Did something happen?”

“No.” On screen, the female lead angrily mutilates a couple of tomatoes before a horrified boyfriend. “Just wondering when you would be home.”

“Friday, optimistically, I think. There’s a few more talks I want to attend, and Ai! I’ve talked to someone about our current project, and there’s this man who would also like to meet you, seeing as you’re the leading scientist on it.”

“He doesn’t have to meet me. It’s as much your work as it is mine.”

“Ai… “ Agasa trails off. Often, he’s tried to bring up the fact that she should begin to put her name back out there, even as a pseudonym, for the works that she’s produced on her own instead of presenting them as Agasa’s work. With the organisation gone, she has so much less to fear, but the years of fighting them, dragging them out of the shadows into the light had left her entirely too paranoid, and she is content to work under Agasa’s name without ever making one for herself, pushing him to claim the awards as his own. “I’m getting along in my age, and… “

“It’s fine. If you die, I’ll simply return as a student under your tutelage. Nothing’s happening at home, so enjoy yourself.”

She ends the call on the start of his protest, and curls her feet under herself, idly watching the TV screen, fingers weaving her long hair into a braid.

Tomorrow, she thinks, she’ll give Kudou a call, just to annoy him.

It’ll be fun.


	27. Sentient spaceship AU // KaiShin

“Don’t argue with me,  _ there’s no time! _ ”

The control panel is a christmas tree of haywire blinking lights, warning messages popping up one after another on the widescreen. Their ship is failing them - Kuroba’s ship is failing them, and the captain himself is still at the controls in command, struggling against his dying ship for a path out of enemy fire and deadly space rocks. The vehicle lists suddenly, and Shinichi is thrown against the side of the ship, cracking his head sharply against reinforced metal.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Kuroba slams a fist against the panel as a sharp piercing whine cuts through the chaos, their shields finally failing them. Shinichi calculates that they have about eight minutes left before they are as good as a sitting duck out there. “Get the crew to abandon ship! I’ll try to buy us time - Shinichi, go! Real sorry about the kidnap, alright? We probably won’t - ”

He reaches out, and cuts off Kuroba’s panicked goodbyes by yanking him away from the dashboard, pressing their lips together in one last kiss. As far as first kisses go, he wishes that they could be someplace nicer, preferably without impending doom trying to bring Kuroba’s ship down around their ears. As it is, the kiss barely lasts for two seconds, a mess of lips and teeth and heat before their ship shudders violently around them and breaks them apart.

“ _ What are you doing? _ ” Anger, fear, and Shinichi allows himself a second, hand cupping Kuroba’s cheek, committing his face, his fear, the sensation of warm skin and sweat to his memory. “ _ Shinichi _ \- “

“Trust me,” Shinichi says. Seven minutes, ticking into less than seven and he turns on his heels, running for the data center. The crew is in a mad scramble around the ship. None of them thinks to abandon ship. None of them thinks to abandon their captain.

Shinichi hadn’t understood when he’d first been brought on board by force. Now, he does.

The data center screeches at him in high pitch when he gets the door unlocked, stumbling in through wailing alarms and a failing system that has fallen out of sync. There’s nothing that he can do for the physical damage to their ship, but they still have enough that if he can pull it back together internally, they might just make it out of this alive.

“Do or die, there’s no trying,” Shinichi repeats to himself as though a mantra, booting up the system that Kuroba has kept purely in reserve on their ship. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t - he hisses as the needles bite into his skin. There’s no time for a soft launch, and as soon as the system is able, he pushes for a hard transfer.

Red lights, numbers, a dark void pulling in his consciousness, new knowledge, filtering in through the dimming sense of pain, a failing system,  _ his _ failing system, struggle to keep from being taken oven by data overload -

A new world of commands and numbers.

He’ll miss all of this.

::

Somebody’s trying to make changes to his systems.

Quiet warning beeps, he stirs as he locks them out automatically.

 

Status: Failing, but just in dire need of repair

Status: Internal temperature, (?_unknown)

Terrain: Unknown, solid rock

Air composition: _

 

He probably should inform someone to repair their shielding systems, and also his outer body. He can tell that there is some exposed wiring out there, sparks and a mess of jarring numbers and unintelligible commands when he tries to run certain checks, and it’s vaguely annoying.

He likes it when all checks come back green.

 

Fuel level: 5%

Battery level: A - 19%

Tank: _

 

Whoever it is, they’re persistent. The captain? His system hasn’t synced up with its internal security yet. He doesn’t know who exactly is the captain, but for now, he would like for them to either fix him, or leave him as he is. Error messages popping up one after another, and switching tact, they engage voice command.

“ _ Come back, you fucking asshole, I know you can hear me! _ ”

It’s good that his dictionary is still intact. None of the words are a command, and he throws up a questioning window on the screen.

“ _ You stupid - ! This is not what I meant - please, I beg you… _ “

“ _ Captain, please calm down…  _ “

Someone, user: Captain? is pounding on his dashboard. At least, that is what his pressure controls are telling him. He’s a little more worried about the moisture, but there shouldn’t be any damage since it’s only a small amount.

He would also like a list of the crew and to be hooked up to their biological stats, but he can’t do that until he’s fixed. Hopefully, he throws up a user access window. Perhaps the captain will figure out that he isn’t keyed in to anyone yet.

“ _ I know you can hear me! Shinichi, please, we’re all alive, you’ve saved us, we’re alive, you can leave, you can leave the ship -  _ “

In human terms, from what he understands, the captain is sad. Again, he flashes all current screen messages in the hopes that someone will input something useful. There’s a lot of work to be done, and the quicker he can be fixed, the better. He would like to be at full working capability again.

 

  * numbers, moisture, salt composition, a heat slightly higher than body temperature and the colour purple -



 

It feels as though he is missing something vital, but the system doesn’t remember what. Instead, it throws up more confusing numbers, and he works on fixing what little he can, tracking the days through a broken clock and the changing temperatures of his external environment.

They attempt to refuel him on the third day.

On the fifth, Kuroba Kaito logs in as Captain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a scratch on Shinichi and die, space pirates.


	28. 14.5 Fighting Boyfriends / Hakukai

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small continuation off Chapter 14

“I’m still angry.”

Shinichi hums, taking a sip of his lemonade as he turns the page of his mystery novel. On his computer screen, Kuroba slumps forwards onto his own desk, and starts messing up his own hair in frustration.

“You’re not listening, Kudou.”

“I am, actually. You’ve spent the past half hour repeating the fact that you’re angry, so tell me something new.” 

He’s gone two more pages into his book before Kuroba mumbles something, face half obscured by his hands. 

“I didn’t catch that.”

“I said,” Kuroba draws in a deep breath. “I don’t know why I did that. At all. He’s been calling me.”

“So answer the call.”

“You make it sound so easy!” Shinichi pointedly doesn’t react when Kuroba slams his hands against his desk, the computer mouse falling off the edge with a loud clack. “I can’t. I don’t know what to say to him!”

“You won’t know what he’s going to say if you never answer his calls. He’ll just think that you’re still pissed at him.”

“I _am_ pissed at him. But I’ll make it even worse if I answer his call as I am now. He - “ Kuroba ducks out of sight of the webcam for a moment, before returning with an envelope. “He sent me a personal reflection on how sorry he is.”

Shinichi bites down on his tongue to keep from laughing out loud, pinching himself in the leg. “Then you know exactly how he feels.”


	29. Making it to principal / HakuKai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Offshoot from unfinished fic. 
> 
> Archive no.28

Dusty sunlight, heat beating into the studios through the floor to ceiling windows, and Kaito spins, leaps through the air as though weightless. A slow, stretching extension of the body, reach, delicate turn of the wrist, deceptive shyness as he draws the line from the tips of his fingers to extend outwards with his foot, toes pointed, and whip sharp, he leaps once more into motion, painting a picture of torment with his body.

This was how he had met Kaito.

Hakuba keeps to a corner, out of the way of the swinging door, careful not to break Kaito’s concentration as he carves a space for himself across the dance floor. Shadows and light interplay on the floor, and Hakuba keeps a smile to himself, folding arms across his chest.

That day, Kaito had come out of his dance with a hard, dissatisfied look on his face, brow furrowed, before clicking his tongue and heading once more for the laptop. When he had spotted Hakuba, there’d been a flash of hostility in his eyes, burning, a wildfire, before all of that had melted away into polite neutrality. Hakuba had understood why the corps had been worried. They don’t pry into their dancers’ private business, but none of them like to sit on their hands when one of their members were working themselves down to the bone, particularly one about to be signed on as a first soloist.

Hakuba remembers the spirited young man he had first seen on stage, and the Kuroba back then hadn’t been him. Angry, frustrated, stumped.

“What does the son of our director want now?” Kuroba had said. Rather nastily, actually. But politely.

The music fades, and Kaito lets himself fall to the floor, panting, stretching out across the dance mat as he tries to get his breath back. He’s back up on his feet again the moment he spots Hakuba, immediately bounding over to him, catching the towel that Hakuba throws at him. “Saguru! You came!”

“Of course I came… I promised you lunch, didn’t I?” He hands Kaito a bottle of water, smiling fondly when he gulps down half of its contents in one go. “Easy now. You’ll make yourself sick.”

“Won’t,” Kaito says, then leans in to peck him on the lips, heat closing up the distance in between them. “Give me uhhhh. Fifteen minutes. I need to warm down and I’m really sweaty right now.”

“Take your time.” He’d taken the rest of the day off, and is currently in no hurry. “I’ll lock up for you.”

“You’re a star!” Kaito twirls, just because he can, grinning at his own reflection in the mirror as he holds the finishing pose - always so vain, Hakuba thinks - and does his best not to rush through his warm downs.

::

“So I’ve decided.”

Kaito has a fork in his plate of spaghetti, ankles tangling with his underneath the table. Hakuba takes a sip of his water, and doesn’t react when Kaito nudges lightly at his calf. “Mm? What have you decided?” Doesn’t say anything when he steals a forkful of spaghetti and also his mussel, and reaches over to spear a prawn from Kaito’s plate.

“I don’t wanna be principal.” Kaito sticks the spaghetti into his mouth, and begins chewing noisily. “I thought about it. I know they’re looking for… I overheard it in the office, okay? And I gave it some thought. Tell them I don’t want to, Saguru.”

“Swallow your food.” Then, “Whyever not? You’ve been wanting to be principal danseur since you’ve joined the corps. I would say that you have more than earned the position.”

“Mmf,” Kaito says, then swallows his mouthful of spaghetti with a drink of water. “But I am happy as first soloist. I mean they won’t pick me, but they might also pick me, so I’m just letting you know that if they do, I’m going to turn down the position.”

“There’s more money in it for you,” Hakuba points out.

“If it’s about money, I have you.” Kaito grins cheekily, lips smeared with tomato sauce, and Hakuba huffs quietly, giving up on his lover. “Can’t get richer than being married to the director’s son.”

“Hmmm.” He feigns displeasure, and fights another smile when Kaito tries to tickle him with his foot. “Kaito. We’re in public.”

“The tablecloth is there for a reason. Either way, I’m perfectly satisfied with where I am now. I… you may say that I’ve gotten comfortable with this, but with my skills, it is better to remain as first soloist. I prefer the repertoire this way. Besides, I uhh. They probably wouldn’t let me dance en pointe anymore.”

“That’s not true - “

“Hush, you. I’ve decided. You can’t change my mind.”

He watches Kaito steal the other mussel from his plate. “If you are sure that you will be happy… “

“You know what will make me happy?” Kaito props his elbows on the table, nearly knocking over his glass of water. “A date. You haven’t taken me anywhere since January, and I want to go on a date.”

“It sounds like you already have something in mind.” Mentally, Hakuba begins revising his own personal schedule.

“I do. Want to hear about it?” His grin turns lecherous, and Hakuba answers it with a weak smile of his own. He hadn’t been in Japan for the last few months, and if his absence had put Kaito in this kind of mood, it didn’t bode well for him unless he got him to work off his energy somehow elsewhere. “I promise you will like it.”

“Ha ha,” says Hakuba, resuming his lunch.

Well, whatever it is, he’s sure it will be fun. Just for the sake of it, he gestures for Kaito to come closer, grinning when Kaito cocks his head at him, leaning in.

“I love you,” he whispers, and sits back as Kaito begins turning a tomato red, a hand covering his ear.

“Not in public,” he hisses, flustered, and Hakuba laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (´ヘ｀;)
> 
> I saw one of my favourite chinese fics deleted
> 
>  
> 
> (´ヘ｀;)
> 
> (´ヘ｀;) the trauma of it


	30. Post-argument (Hakukai)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> archive no.29
> 
> The aftermath of the argument (1)

Perhaps, he should have said something earlier.

Something. Anything. Doesn’t matter what as long as it keeps the silence from thickening and setting between the both of them, cold and challenging and alienating in the shattered remains of their had-been-pleasant evening, the each of them standing on opposite sides of the kitchen table, dinner half finished and cutlery abandoned in their anger.

Emotions, as they come, are always wild and overwhelming. Fleeting.

(He no longer sees them as a weakness now, but they remain a fundamental part of his own weaknesses.)

20:15. 20:16. 20:17.

He stares at the timer on his VHS machine until even the soft glow is too bright for him, the numbers seared into the dark of his mind, and turns towards the back of the couch, pulling the blankets over his head. The material of the couch squeaks obnoxiously as he shifts, and silence fills the space in once more after he settles down.

He’d been.. angry. Furious, actually. Worried. Restless anxiety fanning into anger, when Kaito had… he pushes the rest of the memory away at the hot, acidic burn in his chest that remembering brings. He’d said a great many things. A great many hurtful things, and Kaito had only sat there in silence taking word after word and blow after blow before slamming his cutlery down on the table.

_ “Is there anything else that you want to say to me?” _ he’d asked. Calmly. Quietly. There’d been a ravaging storm in his eyes, and Hakuba had nearly,  _ nearly _ gone there and said what he should have never said.

(Anger, a momentary madness, irrational and illogical and he wishes that there is a cure for.)

(Kaito hadn’t really done anything wrong.)

Hakuba hadn’t said anything then, and Kaito had walked out, the subsequent slamming of their bedroom door devastating in everything he had left behind in the wake of his anger.

Tomorrow, he’ll wake up early. And he’ll make breakfast for them. Then, he’ll apologise. The fabric of the cushion is rough against his cheek, and he rubs against it absently as he drafts up his apology. He hopes that Kaito will forgive him.  _ I overstepped my boundaries _ is too formal.  _ About last night _ sounds like the beginning of an excuse.  _ I’m sorry _ seems to be the safest bet so far.

(An old memory, of cold floorboards underneath his bare feet as he slips countless letters of apology underneath the door, waiting in the dark corridor and thinking that the light seeping from underneath could be so warm, wondering if his childish words had been enough to put across his sincerity that he is sorry, if it had been enough, if he should have written more - )

(They all pretend that everything is well, the next morning, of course.)

(After dinner, at night, when the house is quiet and empty and dark again, it is entirely different.)

“Oi.” Fingers, brushing through his hair. He starts awake at the touch, and Kaito is peeking over the back of the couch down at him. “Don’t sleep out here. I would carry you to bed, but you’re a bit too heavy for me.”

20:47. 20:48. He hadn’t realised that he’d been dreaming. Remembering.

“Are you falling back asleep?” Kaito leans down a little more, and Hakuba closes his eyes as he runs knuckles gently against his scalp. “Come back to bed. We can talk about it in the morning. Don’t be angry anymore.”

“‘m not.” Hakuba instinctively chases his touch when Kaito pulls his hand away, blinking eyes open once more. “I’m sorry.”

“I can tell, seeing as you’re all… camped out here. God, you’re daft. It’s cold as heck out here.” More squeaking, and a hand pulls his blanket away. “Come on. It’s not like we’ve never rowed before.”

Not on a scale like this, Hakuba thinks. “I didn’t… “

“Didn’t mean it? You sure as heck meant it, and I’m going to have some very proper words with you about that. In the meantime, come back to bed, you daft sod.” He starts tugging on his arm when Hakuba doesn’t comply immediately. Slowly, uncertainly, Hakuba gets to his feet, and follows when Kaito grabs him by the wrist to lead him back into the bedroom. “Seriously, I thought you’d gone out of the house. If I had known earlier… “

He stops when Hakuba rests his forehead against his shoulder, head turning towards him in an unspoken question. Hakuba presses closer, even if he has to stoop slightly to do it.

“... For the record, you could maybe get me that scarf from Landmark that I like to make up for this.”

A nod, and then Kaito snorts, tapping him lightly on the head with his knuckles.

“I’m kidding. Just an apology and an explanation will be enough. You don’t need to buy me things to get my forgiveness.” Kaito maneuvers Hakuba’s arms to wrap around his waist, then waddles the both of them towards the bed, toppling the both of them onto the covers. “Anything else?”

A shake of his head, and Kaito reaches over to tweak his nose, looking both exasperated and fond at the same time.

“Go to sleep, idiot. I can’t tell what you’re thinking about when you’re looking at me like that.” Rustling blankets, and then the room is plunged into darkness when Kaito switches off the light. The bed smells like Kaito. “Tomorrow, I’ll definitely drag it out of you… the mouth you have on you, though...“

Hakuba half listens to Kaito grumble, and lets the sound of his voice and the heat and solidity of his body lull him back into sleep.

Tomorrow. He’ll ask for forgiveness tomorrow.

(And this time, it’ll be fine.)


	31. Post-argument (KaiShin)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archive no.30
> 
> Post argument (2) - Kaishin

He knows what he is seeing. Some glossy photo of some neurological parasite whose name escapes him right now (and he can’t be bothered to read the italicized fine print at the bottom left corner of it). Something about ants and brain control and people. He uncrosses his legs, crosses them again, then lies the magazine flat against the desk, hoping that a change in posture might perhaps give him his focus back.

Nothing. Not a single word of the article makes it into his brain, and he abandons it in favour of pacing his library, drying sweating palms against his jeans. Anxiety crawls like frantic ants under his skin, and he scratches at the back of his neck, forcing himself to stop before he ends up drawing blood.

Arguments have never sat well with him.

Emotions. Simple, but never straightforward. He can probably point out the segments and bits, singling out every single incident that has led up to the snowballing of this… problem. But to actually do something with it?

Shinichi has no idea on where to start.

Right. Apologies first. Obviously. And then moving on from there. Somehow, he has a feeling that Kaito won’t settle for a simple grovelling from him, so he has to  _ think _ . Ran would know what to do, and while it is a simple matter of texting her, he doesn’t want to. This is something that he will have to work out, for himself. It would be too easy, getting the answer from her. Kaito deserves more from him, at least.

(He’s come to realise that he would do anything for Kaito, much like the way that he would put himself through hell for Ran. He also realises that it isn’t healthy, but there’s nothing much that he can do about his feelings.)

So… if he were Kaito, how would he want him to apologise? It’s his first time dating a guy, and there’s no rules on what to do. Would getting him a token of apology offend him? Do something special, maybe? Dinner? But Kaito always insists that his food tastes like shite (not that he is any better himself, but moving on), so takeaway instead?

He jumps about a feet into the air when the door to the library slams open, and Kaito strides in, hair sticking up haphazardly and fists balled by his sides. “AND ALSO.”

“U-uh huh?” Shinichi immediately grabs for his abandoned magazine so that he will have something to hide behind, shrinking away when Kaito only stomps closer.

“AND ALSO.” Kaito yells again, louder this time as he slaps a few sheets of computer print-outs against his chest. “I WAS RIGHT. OKAY? I. WAS. RIGHT.”

“I uh… “ Shinichi clutches onto the sheets of paper, and doesn’t dare look away from Kaito for a single moment to read what is on the print-outs. He’s sure Kaito is right, of course. He just doesn’t feel that it’s safe to verify it with his own eyes for now.

“AND. I’m not done.” Kaito plucks the magazine from his hand, and pokes him hard in the chest. “LIKE. I’M SORRY. BUT I’M STILL RIGHT.”

“Of course you are,” Shinichi says placating, and immediately realises that it might have been the wrong thing to say when Kaito narrows his eyes. “I’m sorry?”

“Did you say something?” Kaito stands back, folding his arms across his chest. “I didn’t quite catch that. What was that?”

“I’m sorry?” Shinichi repeats, then clears his throat nervously. “I’m sorry. I mean. I really am.”

He nearly wilts under Kaito’s scrutiny, but forces himself to stand still.

“I made a mess of things?”

“You’re still posing it as a question?” An incredulous smile twists at Kaito’s lips, and Shinichi hurriedly grabs onto him before he can leave again. “What now?”

“I’m  _ sorry _ , okay? I - I don’t know, but I’ll try to do less of it.” Thankfully, Kaito doesn’t try to pull away, and panicking, Shinichi babbles at him.

“If you weren’t so much of a detective, none of this would have happened,” Kaito says, and Shinichi immediately draws himself up at the prick of offence.

“I  _ am _ a detective - “ he quickly changes tact at the gathering of storm clouds on Kaito’s expression. “ - but I’ll try to not let that override my uhhhhh, behaviour?”

“You can’t change what you are,” Kaito says coldly, finally wrestling his hand free from his grip, and lost, Shinichi lets his own fall back limply by his sides. “I know. Mouri-san put up with a lot of this for you. But I’m different. I can’t be - I’m not her.” He runs a hand over his face, body angling away from Shinichi, eyes dark. “I try, but I - can’t. I can’t.”

“Kaito… “

“I don’t want you to change who you are because you’re dating me, but at the same time… “ Kaito drags in a sharp breath, holding a hand up when Shinichi makes to step forward. “I’m not going to say anything like we’re not going to work out, but… I wish I was… more. Before, I thought - “

“Kaito, look - “

“No. Even Hakuba had said so before. That we wouldn’t be good for each other, he said. Not because of who we were, but because of who we  _ are _ .”

“He’s wrong, then.” Unable to bear the look of pain on Kaito’s face, Shinichi grabs him by the shoulders, not daring to pull him into a hug but holds on fast when Kaito tries to push him away. “I’m sorry that I made you feel this way. It’s… I think you can say that Ran has coddled me a little too much. She is… a formidable woman. Kind, generous, and endlessly giving... but you don’t have to feel that you have to match up to her. I’m dating you, not Ran. And I’m sorry that I hurt you because of my thoughtlessness. I might not be able to change who I am, but I can at least try to be better. I’m sorry I took you for granted, Kaito.”

Silence, and Shinichi loosens his grip on Kaito slightly as the fight drains out of the other boy. “Kaito?”

“...I don’t even know what to say to that.” Kaito’s eyes are suspiciously wet, and Shinichi immediately gathers him close. “Let me go, you gross detective wannabe.”

“Okay,” Shinichi says, and doesn’t let go. “Kaito, I’m sorry.”

“I know. You’ve already said you were.”

“Yes, and I’ll say it as many times as I need to.” Shinichi rests a hand against Kaito’s back. “I’m not very good at being considerate to the people who care for me. And I’m terrible at apologising.”

“It’ll probably happen again.”

“Probably,” Shinichi agrees. “Does it sound like an excuse if I tell you that I’ll try?”

“Hm.” Kaito leans his weight slightly against him, then pulls back, forcing Shinichi to step back from him with a hand on his chest. “I’ll think on it. But… you can consider yourself forgiven for now.”

Solemnly, Shinichi nods. Kaito steps towards the window, a hand coming up to touch his chin as he always does whenever he is thinking.

“Kaito?”

“No. Not now. I still have some things to work through with myself. I’ll… let you know, yeah?” Kaito holds up both hands before him, then all but flees from the library. “Get us some food for dinner, and  _ don’t cook _ .”

“...Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Shinichi tells the empty library, then jumps when the door slams open once more. He is going to have chips off his wall at this rate.

“AND YOU’RE FORGIVEN,” Kaito yells in through the opening, before the door slams shut once more, and there is the pounding of footsteps going back up the stairs. Shinichi waits until it is all silence once more, and bends to pick up the fallen sheets of paper.

Hakuba must have said something to Kaito last week. Digging out his phone, Shinichi begins to dial in a number.

Whatever he’s said to Kaito to seed doubts in his boyfriend, he  _ will _ find out. After all, that’s what detective types are for.

Isn’t it?


	32. Boy King Conan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Archive no.31
> 
> This is actually my favourite AU (*´-｀*) somebody pls write it for me  
> This is right up next to my B/O Cider thing

“We are terribly sorry about the mistake, Inspector Kudou.”

Kudou shakes his head, smiling genially as he holds up a hand towards the bowing members of the task force. “It’s perfectly alright. I understand. It is only logical that you’ve drawn the conclusions that you’ve come to… Thank you for being able to clear it up for me.”

“Inspector Kudou... Kuroba is young and therefore still inexperienced. Please forgive him.” The man looks up when Kudou places a hand on his shoulder.

“Please don’t blame yourself. If I were in Kuroba’s shoes, I would have done the same. This case has affected so many terribly - it is only wise to ensure that all leads are covered, even if it is one of our own… “

Kaito watches from where he is standing at the back, expression stormy. Kudou has gone off onto some kind of speech again, and it is taking everything in him to keep his own tongue in check before he gets himself off the case. An elbow nudges into his side, and Kawasaki leans in to whisper into his ear.

“Say something,” Kawasaki hisses. “You kept the good inspector under suspicion for a good three months, half of which you’ve kept him under close watch. and then you even tried to arrest him. You owe him at least an apology, Kuroba.”

As if on cue, Kudou turns his attention to him, and Kaito feels himself go tense immediately.

“Detective Kuroba.”

“Yes.”

“I am glad that we’ve cleared this up between us. I commend you for your hard work and dedication to the case, so please. Do not let this discourage you. Keep up the good work.”

So, he was going to make this as public as possible, was he? Kaito grits his teeth, then bows stiffly.

“My apologies, Inspector Kudou.”

“No need for that.” Footsteps, and he can see Kudou’s polished leather shoes in front of him. “If you will accompany me for a walk?”

The entire room has their eyes on him, sharp, cold and judging. What he had done has only managed to sour his relationship with the rest of the force, and Kaito straightens from his bow, anger churning in his gut.

“Of course,” he says.

::

The car comes to a stop before Kudou’s manor, and Kaito kills the engine, hands still gripping onto the steering wheel, his knuckles white. Kudou hasn’t stopped humming since they had gotten into the car, and has yet to speak a single word to him since, other than mentioning the fact that he was a little hungry. Kaito had ended up running into a convenience store for a bento, and that had been that.

“How.” Kaito forces the question out through his teeth. “How long are you going to keep playing at this?”

“You’ve cleared me of all grounds of suspicion yourself, Detective Kuroba.” The smile Kudou has on is opaque. There’s a bit of seaweed stuck to the corner of his lips, and it only makes Kaito want to punch him in the face just that bit more. “Are you still harping on that?”

“You know what you have done, Boy King. How many people’s lives do you want to ruin before you are satisfied?!” Pissed, Kaito hits the rim of his wheel, hissing when pain flares up his arm.

“Now, enough of that.” Kudou takes a hold of his hand, turning it towards the light to cluck his tongue disapprovingly at the reddening skin before Kaito has enough sense to snatch his hand back. “I didn’t do anything, really. I just told them what they wanted to hear.”

His breathing is loud and ragged in the too small space in his car, and Kaito tries to regain control of himself, concentrating on breathing in and out slowly before he gives in to the attempt to shake some sense into the man.

“It isn’t my fault that they choose to kill themselves after that, is it?” Kudou pulls out a pair of horn rimmed spectacles from the pocket of his jacket, and slips it on, flashing him a smile. “You don’t have enough decisive evidence to convict me, Kuroba. Thank you for your hard work and the lift.”

The car door unlocks, and Kaito positively vibrates with anger.

“I’ll get you,” he swears, Kudou turning to get out of the car. “I’ll be the one to arrest you myself, personally. Even if it is the last thing I do.”

Kudou pauses, the smile slipping briefly for something soft and surprised and genuine in his eyes for a moment before everything is hidden away again.

“I look forward to that,” he says, rapping lightly against the roof of the vehicle, and closes the car door with a click, leaving Kaito to stew in his anger and silence.


	33. Vampire AU / Hakukai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 嗨，都给忘了  
> WARNING  
> GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF DEAD BODIES (OR THEIR REMAINS THEREOF)  
> BAD NIGHTMARE  
> ATTEMPTED STRANGULATION  
> ATTEMPTED CONSUMPTION OF uhm a dead body

Muddy boots, wet soil giving way beneath the heel as he races ahead through the mossy undergrowth, following the trail of dappled, golden light that blazes ahead alongside the clear stream. Faster, he has to be faster - sharp flashes of panic, and his concentration slips, and then, suddenly, he’s there, on the bank, outside of the protection of the trees ( _ of the forest _ ), and he nearly falls over his own feet, skidding in the wet slip of mud as he comes to a stop.

Wet. Nose full of the scent of decaying organic matter underfoot, a smell that reminds him of scales and the exposed root of trees, and there, he spots the flash of pale white amongst the black. Heart hammering in his chest ( _ don’t go closer - don’t look _ ), he carefully makes his way over, marking the way back with footprints on the malleable ground, and bends over the hand, pale as the belly of a fish and bleached of blood, skin already half sloughing grey off the flesh as insects begin to gather for their feast on the body.

( _ run, his instincts are telling him to run _ )

( _ there isn’t anything you can do _ )

Hands, ungloved, he’s holding a knife - why? The cloudy, sightless eyes of the corpse watches him steadily as he pulls, claws, hacks at the flesh ( _ don’t look anymore _ ), the pull of meaty strings in his hand as he cuts down to bone, lifts the pulverised, rotting, quivering heap to his mouth -

Bird caws, flash of beak and claw, and he can see nothing but black before him as they descend upon him a cloud of fury and vengeance. Sharp pain, too close to his eye, and he strikes out, crying, fingers scrabbling when he hits something solid and digs his nails in for good measure, snarling, fear a suffocating darkness lurking and waiting for a moment of weakness -

( _ can’t win - _ )

“ -- Saguru?”

His name, like a bell, a familiar voice ringing in his ear. Calling. Calling him. Wide, clear blue eyes. He blinks, and blinks again. The blankets are half thrown off the bed, and Kaito is watching him carefully, sprawled out and pinned underneath him, as though the chaotic ruin of their bed doesn’t bother him, chest rising and falling evenly, or that Hakuba doesn’t have a hand around his neck in an attempt to choke.

(Lie. He can feel his pulse skittering beneath his thumb, like the wingbeats of a hummingbird, too fast too count.)

“Good. You’re awake now.” Feel the bob of his throat as Kaito swallows, and he pulls back his hand, guilt crashing in and mixing with the remainder of his dream. “Here.”

A warm hand on his, and Kaito guides his hand back to press against the side of his neck, just beneath the jaw to where his pulse beats underneath his skin.

“You’re awake,” Kaito says.

Slowly, carefully, as though not to spook him into startling, Kaito shifts into a sitting position, and gathers him close to him, repositioning his body until Kaito is all but sitting on his lap, fussing the blankets around them before guiding Hakuba’s head down to rest on his shoulder. He doesn’t put up a fight, and willingly goes, turning to press his nose against the side of his neck where Kaito’s scent is the strongest, holding on to his anchor as he washes the last dregs of his dream from his hands.

For a long moment, none of them speak, Kaito only tapping a slow beat out on his back with the flat of his hand in time with his heartbeat as it calms. He smells like warmth, and safety, and Hakuba follows the scent to just behind Kaito’s ear, a frightened lamb seeking reassurance, a hand pressed to his chest to make sure that he’s still breathing, that Kaito’s heart is still beating and that he’s alive.

“He’s in jail now.” When Kaito speaks, he murmurs, in a tone so quiet it is as though he is afraid of disturbing the silence. “You have nothing to fear.”

“I want him  _ dead _ .” Dead, like all his previous victims had been. Mangled. Unrecognizable. They had picked the pieces of what used to be a person out of the mud for weeks, unearthed them like slimy potatoes from their burial ground, brown mud caked on skin and eyes that will never see the light of day again.

Dead, like the way Kaito and himself would have been, if he didn’t get too full of himself and slipped up. He doesn’t always have the answers, and it frightens him. But more than that…

“Saguru, he’s in jail. He won’t hurt anyone again.”

“Jail isn’t enough. I - ” Arms tighten around him, to the point of being painful. He doesn’t try to finish his sentence, and sniffs wetly when Kaito runs a hand through his hair.

“We will leave the decision to the court. For his crimes, perhaps he will be placed on death row.”

Blindly, Hakuba gropes down Kaito’s left arm before grabbing him by the wrist, and holding up the hand before the both of them. “How? How can you forgive him? Forgive this?”

“It’s just a finger. I would have gladly given both hands if it means having you back safe.” Kaito wriggles the remaining fingers of his left hand at him, and takes it out of sight, returning the arm back to around his waist. “Breathe.”

“I feel sick,” Hakuba admits, and focuses on the warmth of Kaito’s hands on his cheeks, grounding himself through him. It is a weakness, this cultivated dependency on his primary. Time, like the river, like their killer, has leeched so much from him. Control. Interest. Restraint.

He understands. He still does. But the complex emotions that comes with knowing have been greatly watered down, vague impressions of colour where a painting once lay. He still feels regret, but that, too, he is afraid will be taken from him eventually.

It’s so much simpler.

(So much emptier.)

“Do you want to talk to someone about it?” Kaito. Carefully, cautiously. The name card of his therapist is still buried under the contents of the third drawer in the cabinet beside their bed. Vehemently, he shakes his head.

How? How can he make Kaito understand? The fear, the anger, when he had realised that he’d been abducted, the next victim in a string of too many. Hakuba doesn’t pretend that he isn’t a predator - he doesn’t pretend that he is human. And it had been hard, so hard to push back his own instincts to destroy everything that is threatening what is his.

(He still dreams of red hot blood, bubbling up from a throat torn open, but when he looks, it is always Kaito in his arms instead of the offender, and he knows that Kaito is right.)

Blood, rushing through Kaito’s veins, accompanied by the steady beat of his heart, and it is a sound that Hakuba cannot get enough of. His primary doesn’t push him away when he latches on, mouthing and nibbling but never breaking skin.

“Feel better?” Kaito murmurs, throat vibrating as he cards fingers gently through the short strands of his hair. “If you don’t want to speak to me now, I’ll wait.”

It still isn’t fair, and none of it makes sense. He grumbles against Kaito’s skin, and finally settles at his primary’s answering embrace around him, calm.

“I know what you’re worried about.” Kaito’s hands are ever so gentle, easily scattering his thoughts and lulling him back to sleep. “I won’t let them take you away, I promise.”

_ Execution _ ?

“That, too.”

It wouldn’t be too bad, Hakuba thinks, following the sound of Kaito’s voice back down to sleep. If he can stay with Kaito like this, when all that is left of him is a living shell, he doesn’t think that he will mind too much.

(Whatever that ending is.)

(He’s seen it coming years ago.)  
  
(And he will be ready.)


	34. Jealousy / HakuKai

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW  
> Warning for dub-con  
> Kuroba is a detective  
> I forgot what Hakuba is supposed to be  
> But this was clearly porn practice

“Here. Spread your legs a little more.”

It’s hard to breathe. The air is oddly thick, like honey, and he swallows when a hand skims up his calf to his knee, lifting and spreading until he is completely bare to Kuroba’s hot, hungry gaze, the detective kneeling between his legs and watching him. His own hands cuffed above his head to the bed have long lost feeling in them, and Saguru closes his eyes when it feels like the fire and possessiveness in Kuroba’s eyes will swallow him entirely and leave nothing behind.

How long has it been now? After the third orgasm or so, Saguru had rather lost track of time, drowning under overwhelming sensation and the roar of his own blood in his ears, Kuroba’s hands a hot brand against his skin as he takes, and takes, and takes. The hand disappears from where it had been caressing his inner thigh, and then the vibrator presses up more firmly against his prostate, sending pleasure fissuring painfully up his spine. Saguru chokes, and finds enough strength in his leaden body to try to arch away, to escape from Kuroba’s relentless assault as he rocks the vibrator firmly in him, dragging the toy over and over his gland as it thrums quietly on its lowest setting. He whines, voice long broken in from all the begging and crying from earlier, only to be shushed by Kuroba, who reaches to pin him down by the hip clinically, pushing the vibrator just that little bit deeper in him. There isn’t much that Saguru can do, the vibrator reducing him into a shivering, trembling mess, tears prickling at his eyes at the building pressure of yet another orgasm low in his belly as his feet scrabble uselessly in the bed sheets.

“Please… “ he coughs, feeling like there’s something lodged in his lungs that he needs to get out. “Hurts.”

Kuroba’s gaze when he finally looks up from where he had been watching himself rock the vibrator into him steals the air from Saguru’s lungs, his muscles tensing up involuntarily, terrified. For a moment, it hadn’t been Kuroba looking back at him, but some other sort of monster wearing his face, observing him with a cold, needling intensity, and Saguru flinches when he reaches for him, fingers brushing over the bridge of his nose to cup his cheek.

“Lying,” Kuroba murmurs, “Is the first step to being a thief.”

There’s little to no warning when the vibrator is thrown onto the highest setting, and Saguru very nearly arches off the bed, screaming. He twists sideways, free of Kuroba’s grasp, gasping, kicking out blindly only for Kuroba to catch him by the ankles and hauling him back down onto his lap.

“No, no, no,” Saguru pleads, Kuroba hooking his legs over his knees and pinning him down, a dry hand curling around his limp cock. “ _ Don’t _ \- Kuroba - “

“That’s _ detective Kuroba _ to you, no?”

Unable to form a coherent sentence as waves of pain and pleasure wrack his body, Saguru cries out at the rough tugging on his cock, friction sparking heat and pain that easily translates over into pleasure in his confused brain. “ _ Ah _ \- “

His body seizes up as his orgasm crests and spills over, destructive, lighting up his nerves and he  _ screams _ when Kuroba keeps the vibrator pressed directly onto his prostate, driving him into certain ruin, thumb massaging circles that sparks like electricity on his frenulum, a sensation not unlike a strained muscle making itself known somewhere down low.

He sort of loses it a little after that.

His cheeks are wet when he’s regained his senses, twitching when he feels the vibrator shift, before it slips out of him, the heavy tip catching on his tender rim, drawing a pained hiss. He  _ aches _ , and he’s tired. He doesn’t think that he can take much more, and honest to god sobs when Kuroba doesn’t seem to want to stop, the uncapping of a bottle cap loud in the room as he drizzles lube onto one hand.

“Behave,” Kuroba admonishes, pushing a thumb back into him, the lube cold and a mild, temporary relief against his hot, swollen skin. Saguru turns his head into his shoulder, hiding his face as tears run down his cheeks. “Maybe just one more from you, kaitou-kun, then we’ll call it a night.”

One more? He just wants to be left alone. But Kuroba’s still watching him, waiting, as though his answer does mean something to him, so he nods, sniffling wetly through his nose to be rewarded with a gentle kiss to his forehead.

“Good boy.”

Kuroba prepares him carefully, fingers lubed with semen and lubricant and spit, as though he hasn’t already fucked him before, Saguru more than prepared from the toys that Kuroba had been using during his own recovery, fingers pushing in easily with an obscene wet noise that has Saguru flushing all over again. His muscles are pliant, and doesn’t give up much resistance, Saguru gasping when a fourth finger joins the previous three, the sharp pain from the stretch slicing into him. A glance from Kuroba, and then the fingers recede, leaving him feeling empty and drained like a wrung out dishtowel.

“Sorry,” Kuroba says, moving up to kiss him once on both cheeks. “We’ll move on now.”

The pillow is slipped back under his hips, Kuroba adjusting his limp body to his satisfaction, before rubbing up against his hole and pushing into him. This, Saguru only registers with a dull ache, Kuroba bottoming out with a low, quiet moan. He holds himself still, eyes closed against the stretch and the uncomfortable fit, feeling Kuroba’s cock intimately deep inside of him, and bites down hard on his bottom lip when a hand rolls an over-sensitized nipple inquisitively between thumb and forefinger.

“Here,” he hears Kuroba say, a light touch over his lips. “Don’t do that. You’ll only bleed.”

A thumb pushes itself into his mouth, forcing him to let go of his bottom lip, and he grunts, turning his head sharply to dislodge him. Kuroba holds on stubbornly, gaze unwavering even when Saguru closes his teeth meaningfully over the digit.

“Go on, then,” he says, and Saguru falters. “It’s just that I find the taste of blood unsettling when I kiss you.”

Defeated, Saguru turns his head away from the sharp smile that spreads over Kuroba’s face, and presses the flat of his tongue to Kuroba’s thumb.

When Kuroba moves, he does it slowly, gently, a pace that Saguru only finds cruel and torturous. He doesn’t protest it, however, drooling onto Kuroba’s pillow as Kuroba thrusts into him repeatedly, occasionally gasping when the head of his cock skates over his prostate. He’s taking little to no pleasure out of it this time, only enduring, Kuroba’s hands mapping out his body and pinching at his nipples just to keep his attention here with him.

He knows that Kuroba is close when the other’s breath hitches, his hips stuttering, but never quite speeding up, holding onto more or less the same even pace until he spills himself inside of Saguru, fingers tightening painfully on his hips, shuddering.

It feels rather sloppy down there when Kuroba pulls out, warm wet spilling out and trickling down ticklishly, but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it when a hot mouth closes around his cock, tongue worrying at tender skin.

“ _ Kuroba! _ ” The metal of the handcuffs clang loudly as he struggles, Kuroba suckling on him determinedly, scraping teeth over him in warning when he squeezes his thighs around his head. Saguru throws his head back, whimpering. It hurts, Kuroba focusing his attention on where he is most sensitive, tonguing over his slit and tickling under his frenulum until Saguru shouts, thumping heels into the bed and still he wouldn’t  _ stop _ .

His orgasm takes him completely by surprise this time, Saguru going from too-much-need-escape to shaking apart from the intensity of it, mouth open in a silent scream. Kuroba doesn’t stop his ministrations, only pulling off with a wet slurp when Saguru lies worn out and twitching, moving to kiss him through his tears. His tongue, when Kuroba kisses him, tastes of bitter come.

Jealousy, he thinks dully as Kuroba smooths some of his hair back, is a frightening monster that dwells in his friend.

He doesn’t kiss back.


	35. Pollution / KaiShin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Featuring:  
> Super jealous dark Shinichi but trying his best to keep it together  
> Kaito and Saguru in a happy relationship but Shinichi doesn't want to stay friends 
> 
> ┐(´ｰ｀)┌

“Don’t.”

The thief finally pauses, the word delivered like a cutting blow between the both of them in the hushed silence of the dark reading room. Shinichi counts ten ticks of the clock’s second hand in the stillness, unseen, before KID laughs soundlessly, a hot puff of air against the back of Shinichi’s hand. He doesn’t let go of his hand, and tilts his head up even as his hat shimmies forward, obscuring half of the thief’s face into dark shadow. Shinichi looks at the slashing grin on the thief’s face, and looks away.

“Don’t?” KID repeats. Mocking. Laughing. Shinichi grits his teeth, and tries to pull his hand back only for KID to tighten his grip on him, the detective hissing when he feels his bones grinding together.

“Don’t do it if you don’t mean it,” Shinichi half whispers, and immediately regrets it the moment the words are out of his mouth. He tries harder, this time, but KID refuses to let go, Shinichi’s fingers going white in his grip. It goes on for a good minute or so before Shinichi relises how childish they are behaving, locked in a stupid tug-of-war over his own hand, and abruptly stops. KID tilts his head at him, and doesn’t speak

(He doesn’t need to. Shinichi can sense his smugness from a mile away. And oh, he  _ hates _ .)

“I don’t understand, Meitantei.” If Shinichi could physically rip that awful nickname from KID’s lips, he would, even if he has to pull out every single one of KID’s teeth. “I always mean everything I do.”

Before he can stop him, KID is going down on one knee, cape billowing out gently behind him from the movement as he leans forward to press his lips to the back of Shinichi’s hand in a kiss. A sharp intake of air, and the dry lips against his hand curves upwards into a smile.

“ _ Let go! _ ” Hot embarrassment flushes his cheeks even as something twists painfully in his chest. He doesn’t want KID - doesn’t want Kaito to see him like this, because if he were to look any closer, any harder, he’d see Shinichi for the monster that he is, jealousy black like tar occupying the entire of his chest cavity. He knows, oh, he knows that KID is KID, and Kaito is Kaito, and that he keeps his professional (ha-  _ professional _ ) life separate from his own private matters, knows that KID is -

Shinichi  _ can’t _ , and that’s all that matters.

“You’re so cold to me,” KID murmurs, turning to press his cheek against his hand. Where he’s touching, Shinichi’s skin itches, and he longs to scrub off the remnants of the contact under scalding water with a brush. He doesn’t move. “You’re always leading me on.”

At this, Shinichi laughs. He can’t help it. “Lead you on?” The sound sounds like it hurts, even to his own ears, and something in KID’s smile turns strained. “ _ Me? _ ”

No one speaks for a while, then Shinichi turns away slightly to watch the flash of blue and red over grey curtains, police sirens wailing from below. As soon as they join the chase, KID will be gone.

“Go home,” Shinichi says. Suddenly. Abruptly. He yanks his hand free from KID’s slack hold, feels the ticklish brush of his lashes against skin even as he pulls his hand away. “If you’re done with your target, leave. I’m done playing your stupid games with you, KID.”

The thief stays where he is, stock still, before rising smoothly to his feet, hands slipping back into his own pockets, defensive.

“I don’t understand.”

What would he understand? That Shinichi wants, that he wishes he can be the one whom Kaito turns to in times of need, that he can be the one holding his hand while Kaito goes on about some inane joke he’s read off the internet, the one who can be sitting across Kaito sharing his food, sharing inside jokes, touching each other just casually because they’re already so  _ familiar _ , the one who can call him rightly by his own name and not KID -

He wants to be who Hakuba is to Kaito, to KID. Instead, here he is, stuck in KID’s stupid game, pretending, always pretending, hiding his greed underneath his skin and holding it all back by his teeth.

“If they didn’t call me in, I wouldn’t have been here at all,” he tells the window. A quiet scuffle of shoes against carpeted floor, KID clearly uneasy, and Shinichi yanks the curtains close, plunging the room into darkness. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Meitantei… “ The voice comes from somewhere to his right. Shinichi keeps his grip on the curtains, not reaching out, not seeking. His gut churns, and he feels like he could be sick (feels like he could do anything). “Did something - “

“ _ Don’t touch me. _ ” Whisper of air against his cheek, and he senses KID freeze, warmth hovering near skin. “I’m warning you. Leave.”

“This isn’t like you.” Now KID sounds like he’s to Shinichi’s left. The warmth retracts, and now there’s only the cold, and the black. “No matter. I will find out. Whatever this is.”

Shinichi laughs again, bitterly. “I hope you do,” he says, and he is sincere. “Now go, before I change my mind about catching you.”

“You can try,” KID teases, teasing, because he doesn’t know the half of it, doesn’t know that Shinichi toes the line of breaking their unspoken agreement every time he attends each and every heist KID holds. Doesn’t know that Shinichi is willing to arrest KID if it means keeping him from Hakuba. Keeping them apart. Finders keepers, and he was first, wasn’t he? The first to come the closest.

_ I’m worried about you _ , Ran’s voice sounds in his head, and he shakes his head angrily to scatter her words away.

“Well, I’ll see you… “ Hesitance, uncertainty, and finally, something that’s going right. Footsteps, and Shinichi doesn’t look as the door opens, blinding light pouring in from the open door as KID steps out, leaves, and closes it again, once again out of Shinichi’s reach.

In the darkness, Shinichi sags against the wall, fistfuls of curtain in his hand, waiting until the anger ebbs before leaving. A quick check of his phone shows that he’s wasted fifteen minutes here, and that it’s time he shows up to meet the police force on the landing floor soon. Straighten his tie, run fingers through his hair, and Shinichi’s as composed he was when he had first walked in, as he was when he had been approached by the owners for assistance in keeping their property safe from KID’s sticky fingers.

Next time, perhaps, he would have the strength to say no.

Next time.


	36. waiting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I clearly remember this as a starter to a slenderman piece  
> Where is slenderman  
> :cccccc

He wakes up to the overwhelming, permeating sense that everything is wrong, and spends a long moment lying in bed, trying to gather his wayward thoughts. His house is quiet, and the rain paints the view outside his window into runny streaks of colour. His alarm will ring in five minutes, and it’s a school day on a Wednesday. Hakuba breathes in, feels his ribs expand with the breath he takes, and gingerly, carefully, peels himself out of bed. Everything is as he had last left it, and he still looks the same ( _ tired, pale, grim _ ) when he glances into the mirror. His reflection stares dully back at him, and he sticks a toothbrush into his mouth, only looking back for long enough to tackle his hair so that it looks presentable. A quick shower, and he trudges down the stairs for a feeble attempt at breakfast.

At seven-fifty, the half eaten piece of toast finds itself in the trash bin with the peel of a banana, and Hakuba swallows his daily dose of vitamin C before heading out through the door.

(Never mind that he locks and unlocks the door for a total of three times on the way out, just to be doubly sure.)

Join the students slowly milling in through the front gates, change into his indoor shoes, and he tries not to sigh at the little pile up of love letters in his shoe locker. He senses more than sees the glances directed at his back, the quiet, not quite stifled giggling behind raised hands, and sets all the envelopes aside for later in his bag.

Classroom, he nods at his classmates with a forced polite smile, hopes it doesn’t look as awkward as he feels, and settles down. Blue worksheet folder on the right, pencil case in the top left hand corner, he sets out his calculator as well. Perhaps what he needs is a little order to rid himself of the deep unease plaguing him since morning.

Eight-twenty-five, Kuroba ambles in with schoolbag slung over one shoulder, and somehow trips into his chair on the way to his own desk despite the fact that Hakuba is not obstructing the aisle in any way. He flinches away as Kuroba nearly falls onto him, the boy’s hand grabbing onto the back of his chair for balance, a sudden intrusion into his personal space, all movement and heat.

“Wait for me after school,” comes a hurried whisper, fierce, Kuroba’s mouth close to his ear. “Do  _ not  _ go home by yourself today.”

Before Hakuba can answer or gather a response of his own, Kuroba is already pulling away, an easy grin and an apologetic expression on his face. “Sorry, sorry,” he says out loud. “Shoelaces.”

There isn’t a chance for him to ask, Kuroba quickly roped into a conversation by his friends. Something about a drama that airs at eight-thirty in the evening from Monday to Friday. Kuroba scoffs, but contributes a fair amount to their conversation despite his claims that the show is boring. Left with unanswered questions, Hakuba looks to his homework, and checks his daily planner.

Class begins at eight-forty-five.

Hakuba opens his textbook to page sixty-seven, mechanical pencil in hand, Kuroba’s gaze burning a hole into the middle of his back from behind him.

All is normal, he tells himself.  
  
All is normal.


	37. domestic mysteries

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally intended as a longfic.  
> Lost the drive for it eventually.  
> Also more like a ... a... messing with timelines fic than a ghost fic.

Seven-thirty, sun peeking gradually in through the open curtains of their balcony window, and Saguru eats his toast to the sound of running water in the sink. The news is still pretty much the same - it’s been running the same headline for about a week now, something about a politician’s scandal and a white collar crime. The article doesn’t offer up new information, and Saguru hums thoughtfully as he turns the page of the papers, sipping absently at his coffee.

“You need to work less,” Kaito is saying, scrubbing the dirty pans clean behind him. “You hardly take a day off these days. It’s bad for your health to be a workaholic. How about cashing in on your annual leave? We could go somewhere nice. I heard Hokkaido is lovely this time of the year.”

It isn’t the first time Kaito’s brought it up, and it has become something of a routine for the both of them now.

“I’ll think about it,” Saguru replies, as is customary. The rest of the papers doesn’t hold anything of remarkable interest. Property market, robbery in the city center, school-wide food poisoning. Saguru drains the remainder of his coffee.

“Will you be home for dinner?”

“I should be.” He checks his appearance in the mirror, adjusting his tie and tugging on a curly lock of hair over his forehead, hoping to make it lie flat before returning to kiss Kaito on the cheek goodbye. Kaito turns the other cheek to him as well, Saguru obliging him. “See you soon?”

“Just be home for dinner,” his husband says, patting him on the cheek fondly. “I’ll see you.”

He leaves, and Kaito watches him go, offering a small wave through the open window as Saguru backs their car out into the street. Alone now, Kaito dries his hands on a dishtowel before moving to sort the mail out. Bills, ads, bills, ads… and there’s one more of those today, too. Even knowing what it is, Kaito pulls out the nondescript white envelope, opening the glue seal with his thumbnail. There’s nothing inside but for a blank piece of A4 paper. Kaito turns it over in his hands, before dropping the letter and the envelope into the recycling bin with a quiet sigh. He’ll speak to the post office about it, when he’s free. Glance at the clock, the numbers read out to be seven-forty-five. Kaito pulls the apron back over his head, and hangs it aside.

Time to go to work, then.

::

Work is hectic, as usual. A new case arrives on his desk at four in the evening, and Saguru makes a trip down to the crime scene. It takes much longer than he had anticipated, and he ends up texting Kaito at six to inform him that no, he regretfully will be unable to make it home in time for dinner after all. Guilt nips at him, but he pushes it aside to the back of his mind. Kaito will understand. He always has, and he always will. Saguru will just have to remember to make it up to him after - cake, or maybe a day off together, just like he’d been asking for? He writes himself a post-it, in case he forgets, and tapes it to his computer.

(Absorbed in his work as he is, he never notices that Kaito never texts him back.)

He’s yawning by the time he leaves the office, briefcase in hand, the ends of his curls slightly droopy by now. Quick stop by Lawson for a midnight snack which he devours on the drive home, and Saguru  wonders what exactly is so spectacular about Hokkaido this time of the year. He doesn’t know if his leave will be approved with their office being so short-staffed at the moment, but once the case is wrapped up, he promises himself that he will try.

Their house is dark and quiet by the time Saguru pulls up and parks in their driveway. Not surprising, considering the fact that Kaito has work early the next morning. The light doesn’t come on when Saguru  throws the switch, and he frowns a little. A blackout? The next light switch doesn’t work, either, and he pulls out his phone as a makeshift flashlight, carefully making his way into the house on socked feet.

Bag on the chair, keys in the bowl, Saguru shuffles into the kitchen to dispose of the wrapping from his onigiri before heading into the study to retrieve his mail. Bill payments, postcard from mum, a flyer about pet food delivery, and it’s only on his way out that he notices an odd shape lying on the floor near their balcony window. He stops, freezing as he makes out Kaito’s still form stretched out on the ground, something dark and liquid pooling beneath him and turning his starched white shirt black in the dim light.

He’s by his side in the next second, heart in his throat, shouting his husband’s name. His hands are shaking, and a small part of his mind is saying for him not to touch him, don’t disturb the crime scene, but a much larger part of him just wants to scream, because  _ Kaito cannot be a crime scene _ . His husband doesn’t respond, body limp in his arms, eyes closed. He’s still warm to the touch, but he isn’t breathing. He doesn’t have a heartbeat.

Saguru calls the ambulance.

They, in turn, call the police.

They estimate his husband’s time of death to be at 2AM, the next day. Saguru sits in an office he works in every day, still wearing yesterday’s shirt, now wrinkled and bloodstained, and tries to ignore the looks of pity his colleagues direct him. Tries to forget how Kaito looked when they finally put his body into the black body bag. Tries not to remember that he still felt warm to the touch in his arms.

(It can’t be real.)

(But, a traitorous, ruthlessly logical part of his mind whispers, it is.)

Half an hour before he’d arrived home, someone had broken into their house and killed Kaito.

Reasons and motive: Unknown.

His colleagues tiptoe past, and someone awkwardly offers him tea and a drive home. The clock ticks on the wall opposite him. Seven-thirty A.M. Just yesterday, they’d still been in the kitchen, eating breakfast together. Kaito had still been alive.

(If only he had kept his promise.)

(He still would be.)

::

Kudou stands by his side throughout Kaito's funeral, holding off the rain with a black umbrella and a solemn face. Saguru says nothing, only having eyes for Kaito's coffin, his husband's oddly peaceful expression in his death. Had it been painful? Had it been quick? Did he suffer? Was he frightened until his last breath had left him? He doesn't have any of the answers, but he does know that it could have been prevented if only he were...

"I'm sorry," Kudou says quietly next to him. Mourners gathering around, crying into their handkerchief or each other's shoulders and Saguru's eyes are dry as bone. He doesn't look at his friend. Kudou had been there, too, as his best man at their wedding. Now, he is here at his funeral. Funny, that.

(He wants to scream, a little.)

"Why?" Saguru finds himself saying. "They should have never been able to get him." In their own home, no less.

"He isn't invincible, even though we all like to think that he is," Kudou says softly. "I will find out who did this."

Saguru nods. So will he.

They feed Kaito's body to the flames, and then Kaito is truly no more.

::

To Saguru: you will never solve the case, and neither will kudou. It turns cold after a year, and then you receive a call from him.

"Saguru! You said you would be home sooner! Where are you? It isn't like you to be late."

Familiar laughter, through the phone, and Saguru shakes, blood turning to ice in his veins.

"Who is this?"

"Have you forgotten your own husband?" admonishment, followed by quiet tutting on the other end. "Look, come home soon. I have a surprise for you."

He drives home, nearly getting himself into an accident by how fast he is going.

His house is empty, of course.

His phone doesn't ring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise all these fics are like from a year ago by now. hmm.


	38. he thinks he's pretty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saguru probably got into some stupid fight or the like  
> And he's having a lot of fun smelling the fabric perfumes Kaito often uses

_ Fine. Don’t move and stay where you are. _

_ I’m heading on over. _

_ You owe me one. _

It’s been ten minutes since the last message has been sent, and Saguru clicks his phone closed, watching people stroll by him anxiously. Kuroba isn’t anywhere in sight, and he wonders if he is even coming, by now. He’s about to give up hope and to limp home when a bicycle screeches to a stop next to him, a girl tossing her hair back over her shoulder, giving him a quick onceover before whistling. Offended, Saguru’s spine stiffens, and he glares.

“Well, don’t you look like shit,” she says, one hand resting on a slim waist as she takes in his cuts and bruises. “Think you can ride with me?”

“I don’t - “ Saguru had been on the verge of declining when something in his mind finally clicks. The familiar posture, the colour of the girl’s eyes, her apparent familiarity with him and the slight drawl to her voice - “Kuroba?”

“Not a word,” Kuroba warns, eyes narrowing. The dress shows off his legs very well, and Saguru cannot help but look a little. Maybe more than just a little. The  sundress that he has on isn’t helping very much.

“No, I… “ Saguru nearly swallows his tongue. He can see Kuroba in this pretty, dark haired girl before him, but at the same time, it doesn’t quite seem like Kuroba, and he is still speaking in a girl’s voice. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Better not,” Kuroba says amiably. “Do you need help getting on?”

::

“Is it offensive if someone tells you that you are pretty?”

Wind in his hair, his arms around Kuroba’s waist, and he’s sure that the both of them makes quite a sight particularly with how fast Kuroba is pedalling, even with his added weight. He smells like something soft, something lacy, and Saguru tries to keep from sniffing him.

“Not at all,” Kuroba says absently. “Why, do you think I’m pretty?”

He can hear more than see the sly mischievous smile on this girl’s lips. He thinks of Kuroba’s strength, his cunning and intellect, coupled with all the little facets and glimpses of him he’s seen - his classmate, his rival, and now this.

“Yes,” Saguru says.


	39. one's a witch the other's just an idiot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (quiet dead laughing)  
> I think I wrote this on a whim

The doorbell rings again, his visitor stubborn and persistent, and Saguru straightens from his crouch on the floor, fireplace rug pulled away to reveal rough wood board underneath, chalk markings and herbs arranged in a circle that only he can read. It’s annoying, being interrupted when he is in the middle of his work, but Saguru drags a finger through the lines of hot ash either way, pinching out the flames on the lit tea candles and hurriedly covering it all up again with the rug. His visitor rings once more, this time knocking loudly on the front door, and Saguru scowls, wiping his hands on the dark grey on his slacks. “Coming!”

He opens the door to none other than Kuroba, his classmate blinking up at him from the doorstep, a thick stash of folders under one arm and fist poised to knock. The polite smile on Saguru’s face falters for a moment before sticking properly, and he nods a greeting to him. “Kuroba-kun. How may I help you?”

“We’ve been assigned as partners for groupwork, so I thought it would be good if we can look over it today. I texted you, but you never answered.” Kuroba’s eyes glance over his shoulder curiously, then back to him. “Were you busy?”

Obviously, Saguru wanted to say, but managed not to voice it out loud at the last moment. “What is wrong with looking over it next week?”

A hint of irritation, Kuroba shifting his weight backwards. “I’ve got something personal next week, so I might not have the time to work on it with you.”

Saguru quickly translates it to ‘I have a heist to prepare for’, and nods. “Has it occured to you that I might be busy, too?”

At Kuroba’s blank look, he sighs, leaning against the door frame. “Rhetorical question. Nevermind. Do you want to come in?”

“Sorry,” says Kuroba, who is evidently not sorry at all. “It won’t take very long.”

Saguru hides his grimace, but shifts aside to allow Kuroba in, only for Kuroba to take one step towards the door and yelp, falling back as though he’d just run into some kind of invisible wall.

“What was that?” Kuroba yelps, rubbing at his nose.

“What was what?” Confused, Saguru can only watch as Kuroba tries to walk in again, only to be kept effectively out by an invisible barrier, the boy seeming to struggle convincingly against some sort of force. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing? I should be asking you - what are  _ you _ doing? It’s not funny.” Stepping back, Kuroba looks accusingly at him. “I know I should have called - “

“But I don’t - “ Saguru suddenly stops, remembering the wards he had put up around his house, renewed just last moon. “Just a moment, Kuroba-kun. There is something I would like to check.”

He leaves Kuroba at the door, hurrying into his room to snatch up a small salt sprinkler, a water spritzer he usually uses for his plants and also a ring before rushing back. “Please, pardon me… “

Before Kuroba can reply, he shakes the salt shaker vigorously over his classmate’s head, Kuroba flinching at his sudden movement, then spritzing him in the face with the water, the boy spluttering in indignation.

“What - “

“I’ll buy you lunch, just bear with me,” Saguru says hurriedly. There is one last check to be done, and he clasps Kuroba’s hand with his own, iron ring held between their palms only for Kuroba to cry out, yanking his hand back with an angry, betrayed look on his face.

“What on earth, Hakuba?! If you don’t want to work today, just say so. You don’t have to burn me!”

From what Saguru can see, the skin in the middle of Kuroba’s palm is red and shiny, the imprint of a circle clear on it. To be honest, he really hadn’t expected for anything to work, and now that it has, Saguru  isn’t quite sure what to do.

He definitely isn’t letting Kuroba into his house until he figures out what he is, for sure.

“...How about that lunch now?” Hakuba suggests weakly.


End file.
